


Tumbling Through Homestuck

by KalicoFox



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 12 chapters worth of Stargate Atlantis, And it's still Homestucked, Demons, I'll add tags as I polish this up, Monsters, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Snippets, There's only like, Tumblr Prompts, all of my prompts, and ficlets, compilation fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 50,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalicoFox/pseuds/KalicoFox
Summary: A compilation of all the prompts I've gotten from Tumblr. All of them are Homestuck, or Homestuck related.Enjoy.(This hasn't even seen the shadow of an editor, proofreader, or beta. All snips were written and posted in one go.)





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a monster in your closet.

It’s big sometimes, and sometimes it’s smaller than you are.

When it’s big, and it’s horns scrape the ceiling, it swears, and then it swears at you for laughing, even though you can’t help it. It’s just so funny, hearing a monster swear at the house for being too small.

It’s not always in your closet. Sometimes it hides under your bed, or in the shadows behind your door, and sometimes you can’t find it at all.

Dad can’t see it. You told him, the first time you saw it, that there was a monster in your closet, but when he went to look, he couldn’t see it, even though it was looking right at you.

It waited until he left, then stepped out of the closet, and you thought for sure that it was going to eat you, so you hid under your blankets.

You knew that wouldn’t do anything, but you hoped that maybe, if you made it too hard to get at you, then the monster would give up!

Instead, the footsteps paused, and you heard it heave a sigh before the bed dipped down on one side, just like it would if your dad was sitting there.

“John.” The monster says, and you shiver.

It’s voice is _weird._ It’s got a buzzy, hummy sort of sound to it, and you _don’t like it._

“Go ‘way.” you tell the monster firmly, “Dad says your not real, so go _away_.”

And just like that, the dip in the bed vanishes, and when you peek out from under the covers, there’s no sign of the monster at all.

It still takes you a long time to fall asleep.

The monster showed up again a week later, but this time you were prepared, and shot the monster full in the face with a water gun you’d kept next to your bed ever since you’d seen it last.

It splutters, wiping water out of it’s eyes and dripping on the carpet as it glares at you.

“What was that for?” It demands, and you gulp, drop your Super Water Blaster 9000, and dive under your blankets.

“Pleasedon'teatmeI'mreallysorryIwon'tdoitagain!”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence, then there’s a choked laugh.

Wait. It’s _laughing?_ Monsters can _laugh???_

Cautiously, just in case it’s a trap, you peek out from under your blankets.

It’s not a trap. The monster _is_ laughing.

The thought occurs to you that it’s laughing at you, and _that_ idea makes you brave enough to sit back up, throwing your blankets off.

“Why’re you laughing at me?” You demand, and then, “Hey, quit laughing! It’s not funny!”

If you were standing, you’d stomp your feet, so you guess it’s a good thing you’re still on your bed, otherwise Dad’d come up to see what was going on.

The monster is grinning when it finally stops laughing, and the sight of all of those _really sharp_ teeth is sort of scary, but it doesn’t try to eat you or anything, so maybe it’s a nice monster?

“I’m not going to _eat_ you, John.” The monster says, still grinning. “I’ve been waiting for you for aaaaaaaages! And I bet you don’t even taste good!”

You… really can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.


	2. Rose; Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written about a year ago.

==>Rose; Dance  
Music is pounding through the speakers, but the room is empty. You poke your head back out the door, peering up and down the hallway, but it too is deserted.

  
The bass is practically shaking the floor. You can feel it in your bones, and you like it.

  
You haven’t danced in years. Not since you quit the ballet lessons your mother had forced on you. (After you had asked for them on some whim or another.) But this isn’t ballet.

  
This is something rougher, something more primal; less refined.

  
It’s like…

  
You step back into the room, letting the door swing shut behind you as you stride into the center of the room.

  
Bass thumps once, twice, and on the third beat you move.

  
Your feet come down with the bass, and you conciously restrict the grace that wants to come flowing, turning the elegant lifts of your arms into sharp, but still somehow graceful motions as you spin and step.

  
The music is tribal sounding, and you let it move you, your feet lifting higher with each beat until you feel almost as though you’re flying, swinging yourself in circles as you dip and spin, imagining a skirt swirling around your bare feet as they dance in complicated patterns.  
There’s a smile forming on your face, broad and genuine as you swoop and turn, your arms moving in complicated patterns that your body follows.  
A flute solo drives you into a series of spins, before it gets shorter, more choppy, and your movements follow suit, just barely falling behind the song until the bass picks back up and you leap into another series of lightfooted steps.

  
It’s leading up to the finale, you can tell, but when it all abruptly stops, you still stumble, not quite ready for the song to end.

  
You’re breathing hard, but smiling harder than you have in a long time, unless Kanaya was involved.

  
Cautiously, you glance around, then sigh with relief. The room’s still empty. Good. No one saw.

  
And…

  
There’s another song starting, the beat fast and clappy, and you throw yourself into it.

  
It’s not at all like the other one, and your ballet training somehow comes more into play. Although, you admit, if your old teacher saw what you were doing with your training she would likely have had a heart attack on the spot.

  
This song seems, somehow, violent, even though the lyrics are anything but, and you barely notice yourself decaptchaloguing your Thorns before you’re sweeping them out in front of you, the motions flowing easily with the music.

  
Whips of power flow from their tips, and you swing them easily around the room, directing them half with your motions, half with your mind as you let the music flow into, through, then out of you.

  
Your will keeps the whips harmless, and all too soon the song ends and you allow them to dissipate as another song begins.

  
This one is slower, aiming for haunting, rather than energetic, and you decide that, for today, you’ve allowed yourself enough frivolity. Besides, there’s a better than good chance that someone will be returning to the room soon. You’re just glad that no one walked in on you during that potentially embarrassing display.

 


	3. Terezi and Vriska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moirails bein' Moirails

“I fucking hate this stupid universe!”

  
You roll your eyes, knowing that they’re safely concealed behind your sunglasses, and that Vriska’s too caught up in her rant to be paying much attention to anything you’re doing.

 

“Everyone’s all ‘bluh bluh bluh, Vriska’s such a huge bitch, bluh bluh’ well what the hell’ve I even done since we got here, huh? Nothing! I haven’t done one single thing wrong, but Krabcat McShoutnubs still kicked me out like some witless loser!”

 

“Any idea why?” You ask, idly combing your claws through her hair.

 

She always hisses at you when you catch on a tangle, but whenever you two pile she’ll flop back with her head in your lap and poke you in the stomach with her horns until you start working your fingers through her ridiculously thick hair.

 

“No!” Vriska exclaims, shifting restlessly, and you tug at her hair when her horn digs particularly sharply into your gut.

 

“Quit that. You know I believe you. I know how hard you’re trying. Karcrab’ll see it too.”

 

She settles again and you run your fingers over her face, memorizing the lines and planes that have aged far past what your last visual memory of them is.

 

Gone are the chubby cheeks and big eyes, replaced by a thin face with high cheekbones and eyes that are, more often than not, narrowed in concentration or annoyance.

 

“What else is going on.” You ask, because if you don’t she’ll never bring it up.  
Vriska is… difficult, that way. So convinced that she has to hide every single possible weakness in order to make people think she’s strong.

 

She shifts again, and you fist your hands in her hair, holding her still. It’s not enough to hurt, just to… remind her, that you’re there, and that you’re meant to know, and help, just like she does for you.

 

“It’s nothing.” she says, and the lie smells like overripe blueberries, halfway to being completely rotten.

 

“Lie!” You sing, and tug once, lightly, on her hair.

 

“It’s not important!” Vriska protests, and you tug again.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell her as matter-of-factly as you can. “It’s bothering you, so let me help.”

 

She groans, and sighs, and flops over onto her stomach, ignoring the way her hair yanks around your fingers as she buries her face in your lap.

 

“bnhrngvcs.” she mutters.

 

“His Honorable Tyranny will find the defendant in contempt if she does not cease obfuscating her testimony…” you let the sentence trail off as ominously as possible, and grin when Vriska raises her head, presumably to glare at you.

 

“I hate it when you start that while we’re on a pile…” she groans, and this time flops back down onto her back to one side of you, tracing random patterns on your knee through the thin, faded, denim pants.

 

“I’m hearing voices.” she says clearly, “Not many, and not like Captain Doublefetish, but just… voices. They want help with stuff. Luck help. One wanted to win a lottery. Another wanted to score a ‘goal’ whatever that is. It’s weird, right?”

 

You hum thoughtfully, catching her hand in yours and twining your fingers together.

 

“That does seem fairly outside the norm. When did it start?”  
  


Her arm moves up and then down. A shrug.  
  


“Don’t take this so seriously, 'Rezi. It’s not important or anything, it’s probably just another awesome god tier thing!”  
  


'Awesome’ was dragged out, the word dripping with fake confidence that tasted like burnt sugar and undercooked eggs. You almost call her on it, but the too-tight grip of her fingers in yours makes you pause, and, with a sigh, you back off.  
  


She can handle it for now. And if you happen to look into it later, with your Mind powers, well, it’s not like she’ll be able to tell!

 

 


	4. Fun with Dirk and Roxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deus Ex Rogue of Void

Oddly enough, building Lil’ Hal’s body isn’t the hard part.

Actually, the basic framework is ridiculously easy. 

(By ‘ridiculously easy’ you mostly mean that the Zahhaks had taken one look at your initial design, practically whinnied in horror, and taken over the designing aspect of the project. You’d been relegated to building the fiddly little detail bits and programming stuff that’d take care of automatic processes, like balance.)  
  


Of course, when Jane came in to check on how you all were doing, (with a tray full of food. Had it really been two days since the three of you had eaten last?) she’d put her foot down on the sleek, robotic body that was already shaping up beautifully and insisted that a person needed a person’s body. And that meant skin.

And eyes.

And hair.

Goddamn, that broad has no fucking clue how complicated she’s making things.

But… it is an interesting challenge, and when you look over at Equius and Horuss, you see a considering light in their eyes. Something that says, ‘maybe, if we tweak _this_ , or mess with _that_ ,’ and 'I think I might know something that could work, if we just messed with it in _this particular way_.’

And you sigh, because of course. Of fucking course Jane’d come in, with her big blue eyes, and 'fairness’ and all of that garbage and end up making the project simultaneously fifty million times harder, and just about that much more cool if you could pull it off.

Two weeks later you’re about to pull out your goddamn hair.

Nothing you try, _literally nothing_ , is working for the skin. It all looks too fake. Too plasticy or rubbery, or just plain fake. It’s driving you insane, and you can’t figure it out.  
The closest you can get is this weird rubber putty stuff that’s apparently what actors use for scars or prosthetics or whatever? But even that’s no good. It’s too expensive, and impermanent, and it dries out and falls off the frame way too fast to be anything like useful.  
And of course, it’s the other female of your cohort; your genius mind-sister, who comes up with a solution.

“Hey Dirrrwhooooaaah, what is _that_?!” Roxy’s voice goes from cheerful to creeped out in about point three seconds flat.

You sigh, shoving your shades up on top of your head and scrubbing at your nose with the back of your wrist.

“'That’,” you tell her, your voice as dry as something you are too tired to think of a suitable metaphor for, “is the remains of my seventy-third attempt to make synthetic skin for Lil’ Hal’s body, as per the Lady Jane’s commands.”

You gesture at the half melted, half scorched mass of pink goo behind you. “You might be able to tell that it isn’t going so well.”

Roxy’s eyes are wide as she gapes at it. “What were you trying to make it out of?” she demands, “Silly putty and algea?”

“And epoxy and silicon and a few other things.” you say, as nonchalantly as you can.

Her mouth flaps soundlessly for a moment, then she turns on her heel and walks out, letting the door slam behind her.

All right then.

Time for attempt number seventy-four.

Except five minutes later, Roxy slams back into your workroom and slams a glass jar down onto the table in front of you, ignoring your strangled yelp as she brushes aside the notebook you’d been recording all of your attempts in.

“Here.” She says, just a tad sharply, “This is something I accidentally cooked up when I was tryin’ to swipe the nothing from Sopor slime. It-”

“Why were you trying to make sopor?” You blurt, and Roxy narrows her pink eyes at you.

“'Cause I heard a few of the trolls complaining about really bad nightmares, and I remember Feferi talking about how they used to have sopor to help with 'em. Anyway, it’s been a total wash so far, but I did get this.”

You peer into the bright purple liquid, then pick up the jar and swish it around a little.  
It’s thick; almost like jell-o, but not quite as solid, and there’s little air bubbles trapped inside it.

“What is it?” You ask, swishing the jar again just to watch it slop around.

Roxy shrugs. “Dunno. But I stuck my finger into it to see if it was just weird colored sopor- don’t look at me like that nothing happened!- and forgot about it when it wasn’t what I was trying to get. I found it a couple of days ago, and… well, look.”

And she plops another jar down in front of you.

The liquid inside is still bright purple. It’s a bit murkier than the other jar, there’s fewer air bubbles in the liquid, and when you swish it, the liquid inside doesn’t flow in quite the same way.

Because the jar doesn’t contain just liquid.

It’s paper thin, with odd little wisps floating through the liquid, but you think you can still tell what it is.

“Is that skin?!” 

Roxy beams proudly. “Yup! Mine! I guess it grew from whatever skin cells were left in there when I poked it!”

“That’s so gross.” You say, and pick up both jars to compare the two.

“I made that second jar just now. I thought it’d be a good idea to have a sample to make more!”

“Yeah, you’re right. This is great! Good job Roxy.”

Roxy’s grin gets even brighter, and she bounds over to give you a huge hug before bouncing out of the room.

Yeah. Like you said. Genius mind-sister.

 


	5. Chapter 5

‘ _Please let him die. I hate him so much, I hate him! Please let him die!’_

The voice, young, female, and entirely unexpected made you jolt almost spilling the cup of coffee you’d been nursing for the last few minutes.

The hell? That wasn’t any of the girls, or even any of the trolls. And sure, everyone gets on each others nerves sometimes, but you’d thought that they’d all gotten over the whole murderous rampage thing.

‘ _He has to die! Don’t let him come home, please please please_ please!’

This time you do spill your coffee, whirling around to scan the kitchen and, incidentally, almost falling off your stool. The only other person in the room is Gamzee, and even though he’d been 'much better’ since his dancestor had started training him in mind fuckery control, his eyes were wide, the yellow sclera starting to bleed orange.

“Hey man,” you venture, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle. “you good?”

Grey eyes snap to your face, and the prickling redoubles.  
“Motherfucker, you hear that bitch?”

Your eyebrows raise of their own accord, but you nod.

“Ain’t no fucker that lives 'round here.” Gamzee mumbles, “thought I might be gettin’ more voices up in my fucking thinkpan.”

“Nah.” You say easily, “I heard her. Don’t know who she is though.”

Gamzee nods, taking a couple of deep breaths, and you watch as the orange recedes, leaving behind the normal bright yellow.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, waiting for something else to happen. When nothing does, Gamzee mumbles something indecipherable and ducks out of the kitchen.

 


	6. Poor Sick Eridan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humanstuck Eridan gets sick

“Oh god dabbit.”

Eridan buried his face in his pillow, hoping against hope that if he just ignored it a little longer the tickle in his throat would go away and he’d actually be able to breathe properly again.

No dice.

Dammit.

“Eri, it’s time to get up. You’re going t’ be late."

His dad’s voice carried easily through Eridan’s bedroom door, and for a moment he considered just burying himself under the pile of blankets he’d collected. But no, Dualscar wouldn’t tolerate shirking from anyone, much less his youngest son, and so, with a groan, Eridan levered himself out of his warm cocoon.

"I’m ub.” Eridan called, and got a grunt of confirmation before footsteps headed down the hall towards Cronus’ room.

Dressing was a pain in the ass, with all of his clothes feeling like sandpaper against his skin, and nothing feeling like it was quite warm enough. Eventually Eridan gave up and just threw everything on in layers, ignoring fashion in favor of warmth before heading downstairs to wait for Cronus.

Downstairs was, as usual, basically a riot, with Cronus and Dualscar arguing about what the hell ever yet again, and Eridan cringed as the noise made itself a nice cozy little nest of throbbing pain in his temples.

It wasn’t until a cool hand settled on the back of his neck that he realized that Dualscar was standing right in front of him, watching him with concerned eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You’re sick.” Dualscar said, his voice flat, and Eridan snuffled miserably.

“I can still go to school."

"Cronus left five minutes ago."

"Oh.”

Dualscar sighed, tightening his hold on the back of Eridan’s neck for a moment, then releasing him. “Couch, kid. And take your outdoor shit off.”

Silently, Eridan complied, hanging his coat back up and kicking his shoes back into the closet before curling up in a little ball of misery against the arm of the couch and dozing off.

The soft ‘flumph’ of blankets landing on the couch next to him jerked him back to awareness, and Dualscar tugged and pulled and pushed him into position until he was stretched out and wrapped snugly in what felt like half the blankets in the house.

“I’m turnin’ the television on, but you should sleep if you can.” Dualscar said firmly, and tossed the remote control into Eridan’s lap, “See if y'can text one a your friends t'bring you your work, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Eridan rasped, “thanks dad.”

“Yeah yeah.” Dualscar said, waving him off, but squeezed Eridan’s shoulder as he went past on the way out of the living room. “Sleep, kid.”

 


	7. Potential exerpt from Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meenah gets the memories of her alternate self, and talks to Mituna, who's had the memories of his alternate self for a couple of days.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to track Mituna down, and though part of you misses being able to just walk into the helmsblock and talk at him anytime you want, the larger part of you relishes the fact that your older self got her bass thoroughly kicked.

You woulda liked to have been the one doing the kicking, but hey, a gull can’t have everfin, and throwing down with Lord English was a pretty good substitute.

He’s with Kurloz, which is sorta a surprise, since you'da thought that he’d be avoidin’ the shell outta anyone that had anyfin to do with the mutant’s death. But no, the two of them are sittin’ across from each other, nice as ya please, and it looks like you’ve interrupted them mid conversation.

Might as well just roll with it, then, you figure, and smirk at them.

“Heya Tuna! I been lookin all over for ya!”

You ignore the way he stiffens and throw yourself sideways into one of the other armchairs, slinging your legs over the armrest.

It’s totally calculated. Your old self hadn’t lived as long as she had just because she could leach offa your powers. She had t'know how to act. What would make people relax around her. What would lower their guards.

Takin’ a position it’d be hard to get out of quickly, and leavin’ the other person well outta reach of her 2x3dent? Basic stuff, and you’re kinda offended that it took the fish queen her damnself nearly _sixty five sweeps_ to figure it out.

You might not be the smartest fish in the sea, but _dam_ that girl was dumb sometimes.

“So.” you say casually, staring at the ceiling. “We got water t'clear, I figure.”

You don’t let your eyes wander, even when Mituna shifts uncomfortably and Kurloz’s eyes flare purple. _Wait,_ the voice of experiences you don’t have whispers to you, _peripherals are good at spotting movement, and direct eye contact can escalate situations you don’t want escalating._ _Let them make the next move. Let them feel in control, so that when you_ _ **crush them utterly the despair is sweeter**_ **.**

Mentally, you shrug off that last bit. You ain’t never gonna be no queen. Not the kind your alt self was, and not the kind you grew up learning from. You don’t need t'crush nobody, ‘cause you’re already the best kind a badass.

“That'th one way to put it.” Mituna finally says, his voice bitter, and you catch a brief glimpse of flickering red and blue light.

You don’t let yourself look, and you very, very carefully don’t tense. The Psiionic had been one of the most dangerous psions in the history of Alternia. He was the _reason_ that all future generations of psionics were schoolfed the idea that pure psionic manipulation was beyond dangerous and grounds for immediate culling. Under his tutelage, the psions in the ranks of the Signless’ rebellion had taken out _scores_ of threshecutioners, cavalreapers, and subjugglators. The Condesce hadn’t wanted even a hint of that ever happenin’ again.

But none of that matters right now, ‘cause _Mituna ain’t the Psiionic_. And you’re here t'remind him of that. Just like you wanna make sure he knows you ain’t the bitch that locked him up in a helmsblock.

But now that you’re here, layin’ out on a chair in front of him, you ain’t so sure how you’re gonna do that.

“Look,” you finally say, and twist around so you can actually look at them. “I ain’t the Condesce, and I don’t wanna be. I ain’t the Benefice, either, and you already _know_ I don’t wanna be her. I just wanna be _me_. I wanna go out an find all the treasurf, an’ collect it all and have _fun._ ”

You scowl at the air in between you and Mituna, “And yeah, that other Maryam’s all gung ho whatever about ‘revivin’ the troll race’ and all, but _I don’t care._ I don’t wanna be in charge of that. Shell, if I _gotta_ be a part of it, I’d rather be in charge of an army or somefin. Like in the dream bubbles. That was fun.”

Mituna scoffs lightly, but you can see the small smile playing around his lips, and the pleased glint in Kurloz’s eyes.

“Yeah.” Mituna admits, “You did all right, onthe you thtopped letting Aranea and Vrithka mind control everyone.”

You grin back at him, flapping a hand like you’re waving off his faint praise. “Yeah, that wasn’t my best idea. I shoald’ve figured it out from our session, but I guess it took longer to sink in.”

“It'th jutht _hard._ ” Mituna blurts out suddenly, “You look _jutht like Her._ And I wath thtuck there _forever._ ”

“Not. You.” You say firmly, overriding him with a quiet ferocity that makes him fall silent, his eyes wide.

“They _aren’t us._ ” You spit, and now you’re angry. You _hate_ the game for giving you the memories of your so-much-older alternate self, and you hate yourself for feeling even _partially_ responsible for the shit she put so many people through.

“You ain’t the Psiionic, you’re Mituna Captor. You haven’t even hit your metamorphosis yet. I ain’t the Condesce, I’m Meenah fuckin’ Peixes, an’ _I_ haven’t even hit my metamorphosis yet. I fuckin’ _refuse_ t'be held responsibubble for all that bullshark that she did. You think you got it bad? You don’t know _anyfin._ I got memories of her flat out _krillin’_ any other Heiress that hit conscription age. And guess what that was?”

“Seven.” Kurloz says quietly, his voice a deep rumble that is _really weird_ to hear comin’ from his skinny bass.

“ _Seven_.” you snarl at Mituna. “And you know how many Heiresses there were? _Hundreds._ An’ that’s not even goin’ in t'the trolls she personally culled 'cause she was pissed off, or annoyed, or bored, or _what the fuck ever._ She was a fuckin’ _monster_ , and _I ain’t her._ ”

You pause for a moment, and take a deep breath, then another, then roll back to face the ceiling again.

“The worst part.” You say quietly, “Izzat she wasn’t alway like that. She liked treasurf, just like me. She didn’t want t'be in charge of everyone. She just wanted t'keep her territory in the western sea, and keep trickin’ landdwellers outta their shiny shit. She wanted to have fun, too. An’ once she hit the throne, ain’t nobody told her 'no’, so her treasurf went from gold and whatever other shiny shit she liked, to whole other planets.”

You sigh, staring blindly at the speckled, off white ceiling.

“I remember,” Mituna says quietly, “being two, and having a collar around my neck becauthe I was a thionic, and thionicth were valuable. I remember being beaten until I couldn’t move, becauthe I wath edging on burnout, and couldn’t lift the nectht load fatht enough. I remember watching a ruthtblood die from a combinathion of an infecthion and thionic overuthe. The wath my bunkmate. The wath altho my moirail. I remember,” he said, and now his voice is raised until he’s almost shouting, “hoping every thingle day that maybe _today_ wath the day that I’d die, tho that I wouldn’t have to keep living the hell that wath my life!”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Kurloz place one hand on Mituna’s shoulder, and Mituna slumps backwards, his eyes shut tight.

“And I remember thith weird troll. A complete idiot, with what _had_ to be deluthionth of grandeur, vithiting uth thlaveth in the middle of the day and telling uth thtorieth. Thtorieth of an Alternia with no thlaveth, and no hemothpectrum. And he wath obviouthly deluthional. Obviouthly crathy, to be wandering around in the middle of the day. But it thounded tho _good._ And for the firtht time I could remember, I _wanted thomething._ I wanted that.

“And when he cut our collarth off, and we burned the compound to the ground, I followed him, becauthe he wath crathy, and obviouthly needed thomeone to take care of him, and I wanted to thee him make what he wath talking about happen.”

You crack a crooked smile at the ceiling. “An’ Psii ended up helpin’ him, too.” you remind him, “Turned inta the scariest dam psionic on th’ planet.”

Mituna preens slightly, and there’s a soft crackle as his psionics light up in his hands, ribbons of red and blue light twisting between his fingers as he watches them.

“Yeah. He wath.”

For a moment you just watch out of the corner of your eye, the swirls of colors around and between his fingers strangely mesmerizing, then his hands close, and the power vanishes as he looks up at you.

“Do you think I could thtill do it?” He asks, and turn your head to properly look at him.

“Do what?” you ask, “Kick some searious bass?”

Mituna nods, and you don’t even have to look at Kurloz to know that there’s a dangerous smile spreading across his face.

“Shore.” You shrug. “You got his memories. Might not have as good control, 'cause he _was_ an adult, but I bet you could still take mosta us.”

“Even you?” Mituna’s grin is sly, and you narrow your eyes at him.

You’re about to reach over and smack him for being a smartass when a better idea occurs to you, and you return his grin with as many pointy teeth as you can show.

“Wanna find out?”

 


	8. Mermaid Dual/Highblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highblood gets cursed. Dualscar has already pissed off that particular witch.

“This,” Highblood hissed, “Is all your fault.”

“It ain’t.” Dualscar growled back, fins flaring with irritation, and that right there was as good a reason as any to choke back the torrent of insults that were just begging to be slung at the larger man.

  
Or rather, the larger _half_ -man.

The other half seemed to be comprised solely of masses and masses of tentacles that were writhing in increasingly jerky frustration.

“You’re just lucky I knew her, else y'might’ve found yourself a fuckin’ _anchovy_.”

“What, like you?” Highblood spat, glaring down at the squirming arms.

“I,” Dualscar said, his voice dripping with dignity, “am a fuckin’ Lionfish, thank y'very much.”

Highblood’s head whipped up, the sudden motion tossing his dreads into his face and then wrapping them around his head as the water carried the motion through.

Tentacles flailed, human arms flailed, and profanity filled the water as Highblood struggled to get his masses of hair out of the way.

“An’ that,” Dualscar said sagely, raising his voice so he could be heard over Highblood’s cursing, “is why I wear that ‘girly fuckin’ braid’ all th’ damn time.”

One of Highblood’s tentacles shot out, wrapped around Dualscar’s waist, and squeezed hard.

“Fuckin’ _christ_ ,” he wheezed, and stabbed the tentacle with the spines on his arm; digging the spines in as hard as he could and trying not to squirm as the teeth around the suckers dug in to skin and scales.

“Highblood, let me go you insufferable excuse for a fuckin’ landlubbin’ cultist!”

Tendrils of blood smoked into the water as Highblood thrashed around more, and Dualscar swore as something in his chest popped uncomfortably, then doubled over, opened his mouth as wide as it would go, and bit a chunk out of Highblood’s tentacle.

  
That got a reaction, and Dualscar found himself tumbling through water ringing with an enraged roar. When he managed to right himself and turned back to face the way he’d come, Highblood was obscured by a cloud of blue-black ink; only the occasional writhing tentacle poking into view before vanishing again.

Right.

He took a moment to test his range of motion, wincing as the test confirmed that the rib was definitely disclocated, then he gritted his teeth and darted back towards Highblood.

Luck was with him, and he was fast enough to knock Highblood out of the ink cloud without getting snagged by another tentacle. Working fast, Dualscar managed to get behind him, get one arm up and locked behind his back, unwrap Highblood’s hair from where it’d gotten tangled around his throat, and use one of the longer dreads to tie the others back. It didn’t look pretty, but it’d hold until he could get back out of the water and figure some other solution out.

It wasn’t until he went to let go of Highblood’s arm that he realized the larger man had gone limp in his hold, floating there placidly as Dualscar got things settled.

“Y'okay?” He asked, flitting back around to peer into Highblood’s face.

“Fine.” Highblood grumbled, crossing his human arms. “Can we get the fuck outta this shitty ocean now?”

Dualscar grinned. “Nope.”

“The fuck not?” Highblood sounded so offended that Dualscar nearly laughed in his face.

“First time y'change after the witch curses you, y'have t'stay in y'water form for a month.” He informed Highblood, and this time he did laugh, long and loud, as Highblood swore.

 


	9. Jade and Troll Biology 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of headcanons here

There isn’t really anything you can do right now, except for wait. Karkat and Kankri had both disappeared over a month ago, and it’d taken hours before they’d been found.

Or rather, before their metamorphosis cocoons had been found. Of course, because these are the Vantases that you’re talking about, they were on opposite ends of the house from each other.

Kanaya, Porrim, Feferi and, oddly enough, Horuss had been shocked when they’d been found, and promptly demanded that the floors the cocoons were on be emptied.

Cronus and Sollux were not happy.

But Feferi put her foot down, and Sollux moved, and Horuss just started moving Cronus’ things, until the seadweller had no choice but to help, if only so that he’d have some say in where he’d end up sleeping.

Once the floors were clear, Kanaya and Porrim had sat everyone down and started to explain.

Apparently trolls age in cycles, starting with the lowest blood caste and ending with the highest. Now that Karkat and Kankri had begun their metamorphosis into adults, the pheromones involved would trigger Aradia, Damara, Sollux, Mituna, Tavros and Rufioh.

That would trigger the next group, comprised of all the midbloods, which would, in turn, trigger the highbloods.

Then there’d be a month or two in which no trolls were around, ‘cause they  would all be wrapped up in cocoons hidden in piles, and then, in the same order they’d 'cooned, they’d hatch and finally be physically adults.

That part was fine. You didn’t mind hearing about cocoons and metamorphosis. It was actually kind of fascinating!

The scary part came next.

Apparently, trolls are predators.

Which, well, _yeah_.

No duh.

You’d more than gotten that just from looking at them!

But Kanaya had been trying really hard to make the humans understand, so you had paid close attention.

Apparently, when trolls first come out of their adult cocoons their brain isn’t all there? Something like that.

Porrim called it a 'Highly primal, subconscious-driven state in which there are only two drives; hunger and aggression.’

Horrus only made it worse; relating anecdotes from the hospital he had occasionally volunteered at.

Stories of trolls fighting, killing, and then eating any troll that got in their way when they escaped their metamorphosis chamber.

Stories of trolls going on rampages through their neighborhoods if they hadn’t gone to the hospital to metamorphose.

The stories were horrible, and gross, and kind of scary, and they definitely made you want to be anywhere but around Karkat and Kankri, or any of the trolls when they first emerged from their cocoons.

Which, you guess, was the point.

But, Porrim was quick to assure everyone, there was no problem with sitting in the room while the metamorphosis was in progress. There were studies on Beforus that showed that it helped the process proceed more smoothly, and that it had beneficial effects on the visitors as well.

Which leads you to now, sitting in the armchair you’d brought into the room you think holds Karkat’s cocoon, and talking to the pile of sickles, concrete blocks, rebar and scrap metal.

At first, you’d been a little worried about intruding, since Gamzee had set himself up on a pile of cushions and clown horns directly between the door and the far, far more forbidding looking pile, but the fourth time you’d opened the door to poke your head in, Gamzee had just smiled crookedly at you and gestured you in.

You’d gotten tired of the silence quickly and started talking to Karkat’s pile, telling him all of the stupid shit everyone had done, and a couple of times you’d even caught Gamzee snickering! He’d muffled the sound quickly, but you heard it, and the sound sent a rush of proud warmth through you.

So you found yourself returning to Karkat’s room every day, never really speaking directly to Gamzee, but occasionally handing him a plate of food, or something to drink, 'cause you had the sneakingest suspicion that he wasn’t leaving the room at all.

“It’s been almost a month and a half.” You say idly, watching Gamzee out of the corner of your eye, but addressing the pile Karkat was hidden in as usual. “You should come out soon! It’s so boring around here! I know I already told you that Aradia and Rufioh and them already made their own cocoons, like, three weeks ago, but I didn’t say that D, Dave, Dirk and Jane all vanished too! And then we found their cocoons, and John and Mister Crocker pitched a huuuuuuge fit. I guess John doesn’t want to experience troll puberty or whatever? And Mister C is just weird. It’s like he doesn’t want Jane to really live at all!”

Gamzee shifts just slightly, and you hasten to reassure Karkat.

“Not that he wants her dead or anything, but… there’s a difference between being alive and living right? And if you want to live, you have to have as many experiences as you can! But Mister C is just… trying to keep anything from happening to Jane, ever!

"I’m kinda looking forward to it though! It’s exciting! I wonder what it’s like in the cocoon. Is it warm? Can you hear me? Is it like sleeping? I thought I’d have to wait to ask you until you came out, but now I’ll get to find out for myself!

"I was going to save that as a surprise for you, but I guess it’s okay to tell you now, since I’m not sure if I’ll be awake when you come out.”

Gamzee shifts again, glancing at you inquisitively, and you smile brightly.

“I finally tried out my troll form the other day! I figured it might be a good idea, since that way I’d be able to guess about when I’d go make my own cocoon and could let Rose or John know. Turns out, I’m a violet!”

You giggle slightly at that, “Eridan was soooo surprised. It was super funny! And then Rose cut her hand trying to make fried potatoes, and figured she might as well see, too, and she’s a violetblood too! John doesn’t want to know, though. He’s being so stubborn about it, it’s silly! Why is it a bad thing to know when you’re going to make a giant cocoon?”

You pause thoughtfully, “Actually, he’s freaking out about this a lot more than he normally freaks out about things… I think he might be worried about you, Karkat. All those stories Horuss told, a lot of them didn’t end well for the adult… But Rose says you’ll be fine as long as we keep out of your way! So don’t worry, okay? We’ll be here when you wake up, and I’ll even make a special trip out to get you those huge gross grubs you like so much!”

Gamzee stiffens in his pile, his eyes wide and fixed on Karkat’s pile.

You frown, then look over at the pile. Nothing looks different, but there’s a sound. A faint, barely there rustling, like someone flipping idly through an old book.

“Is that-?” You breathe, looking at Gamzee with your own set of wide eyes.

Razor sharp teeth are bared in a smile at you, and you grin back.

“Ohmygod! This is great!”

 


	10. Bro, meet Dirk.

“This is weird as hell.” Dirk says from next to you, and you glance at him, ignoring the way your character flies off the edge of the platform on the TV.

“What is?” you ask, hitting the button on your controller to start the next round.

“You’re me.” he says, like that’s all the explanation you need, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Real informative there, mini-me.”

You can practically feel his eyes roll behind his shades.

“Look,” he says, tapping furiously at the buttons of the controller in his hands, “I’m the Prince of Heart, right? And for fucking years I was doing this weird splintered self thing, where there were bits of me just running around all over the goddamn place. I’m pretty sure there was even one of me in Jake’s head at one point.”

He pauses to make Link deliver a particularly punishing combo to Princess Peach, then continues. “But now you’re running around, and I can’t feel you in the back of my head, but you look like me, just older and more of a douchebag. So it’s weird.”

“Thanks.” you tell him, your voice dry, and Princess Peach flips over Link’s head on the television, then hits him hard enough to knock off the platform.

Still, the kid’s got a point. For all that you aren’t under Caliborn’s control anymore, you are still kind of a douchebag. Funny story; being mind controlled for the majority of your life tends to leave some lasting fucking marks. Usually in the personality department.

“How’s that work, anyway?” you wonder, “Having bits of you running around doing what the fuck ever?”

“Eh.” Dirk shrugs. “Not bad I guess, as long as I don’t talk to ‘em. I’m kinda an asshole.”

You honest to god snort at that. “Yeah, that seems to run in the family.”

Dirk cracks a tiny smile at that, but doesn’t say anything, and for a few minutes there’s nothing but the sound of video game characters beating the crap out of each other.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know.” He says finally, and you glance sideways at him.

“Our guardians.” Dirk elaborates, “Dave and Rose from my earth. If you read between the lines of the news reports or whatever? It seemed like they had some of the powers their alt selves had. Rose was almost definitely a witch, and probably could see the future. My Bro probably had some sort of timey thing going on, too.”

“So you think I’ve got some of your Heart powers?” you ask, and Dirk shrugs.

“’S a possibility.”

“How’d I know?”

Dirk shrugs again. “Fuck if I know, man.”

Right. That’s helpful. Not.

But whatever, it’s not like you’re gonna need any bullshit game powers anytime soon. Harley’s got a pretty sweet pad, and none of the kids’re gonna let themselves be separated from the others, so you’re basically stuck here, where nothing ever really happens.

 


	11. Cronus, Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus dreams of Dualscar

_It starts in the sea._

_It always starts in the sea; it is home and flushmate and pitch partner, all in one._

_You love the sea as you love little else, and it is the sea who guides you to Her._

_To both of them, in fact._

_The Empress, with her slow anger that breaks into raging fury._

_The Gamblignant, with her sly smiles and casual cruelty._

_You pity one, and loathe the other, and in between there is always the sea._

_The water is in them, too, pushing and pulling them thither and yon. You understand it._

_The sea pulls at you, too._

_Or maybe it is your duty that pulls at you._

_You are the Orphaner. She trusts you as She trusts few others, and your title reflects that. Others may have something similar, but you are the only true Orphaner, and you wear the title with pride._

_Thousands of lusii fall to your Crosshairs, and though you might not deliver them to the imperial lusus yourself, you know that the Empress must feel some sort of gratitude to you._

_It is due to your diligence that the troll race continues, after all._

_You have little to do with whatever troubles the land. You do not care to have anything to do with it._

_It has been centuries since you felt any pale leanings, so when you lay eyes on the jade, an imperial gift of a slave from the crushed rebellion, and feel a faint stirring of pity, you barely recognize it._

_You wish to wipe the broken look out of her eyes. You want to see what a smile looks like on those black lips._

_But you have no time for a slave, and less time than that for a member of a failed rebellion. You have your duty, and your kismesis to tend to. And your kismesis is a demanding one._

_Any pale feelings are erased by Mindfang’s manipulation, and the slow, smoldering antipathy you feel for Mindfang herself flares into life as a deep, raging hatered that nothing save her death will ease._

_But you cannot do it yourself. And move you would make against her would either be averted, or turned back on yourself by her manipulations. Instead, you soothe the first burn of your ire by assassinating the slave. Let Mindfang feel the sting of denial for once._

_You have subjugglators to coerce to your side._

You jerk awake with a shriek, and your fingers are in your hair before you can even register that you’ve moved.

Your horns are whole. Your skull isn’t caved in. There are no Subjugglators in your respite block, but you can’t stop shaking, clutching at the roots of your horns.

There was so much death, and so much terror, and he felt everything so _much_. It’s alien to you. You don’t understand how someone can feel so strongly and not fly apart at the seams.

 


	12. Kurloz: Speak with your Dancestor

Fear tickles the back of your mind, and you turn, your eyes darting to the source.

Gamzee is standing in a shadowed doorway, his eyes flickering faintly with purple fire. When he sees you looking at him, the purple dies away and he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Maaaan…” he groans, “Motherfucking thought for sure I got it right that time.”

He shuffles over to you, and you smile at him.

“Still too much.” you rasp, and your hands speak for you too. You still aren’t used to letting your voice do the talking, but Gamzee doesn’t know sign language, and using your chucklevoodoos on  someone recovering from the most extreme case of psychic overload you’ve ever seen is just asking for a worse, more extended meltdown.

“Motherfucker, how’s a brother supposed t'turn the chucklevoodoos down quieter?” He protests, and your smile widens into a grin as you let the barest, most barely there trace of chucklevoodoos leak out of your pan.

It’s not enough to really affect another purpleblood, but you can feel the icy prickles of unease creeping up the spines of the closest trolls.

Humans, oddly, seem a bit more resistant to chucklevoodoos than trolls, but then, they _are_ a different species.

“You fucking feel that?”

Gamzee scowls, but, after a moment, nods grudgingly. “Yeah.”

“Do it like that.” You direct him, and turn to walk off.

Gamzee doesn’t object. The whole point of this is to keep him from being found. Back when you were a wiggler on Beforus, it was the easiest way to learn how to keep from scaring the shit out of everyone around you at the barest hint of your chucklevoodoos.

It was a sort of variant of a wiggler’s game. A bunch of wigglers would hide, and one would try to find them all. It took you too many games to figure it out, but eventually you found the exact right level of fear that’d have eyes passing right over wherever you were hiding. Toning it down even further got you an effect that made people _not_ look around, because they didn’t want to feel paranoid when it turned out there was nothing there.

Here, you were doing it slightly differently. You would leave, and Gamzee would hide, and then you’d try to find him without tracing his chucklevoodoos. Once he had a better handle on it, you’d probably rope some of the others into ‘playing’ too.

You give him until you reach your own respite block, then turn around and start back down the stairs. He’s supposed to be staying on the main floor, which gives him plenty of rooms to hide in, but you’d made it harder by telling him that he wasn’t to actually conceal himself. The only way he was allowed to hide was by making you _not look_ at him.

You’re peering idly into rooms as you pass each door, and at one you barely even glance inside before your lip curls with disgust and you’re closing the door again. It’s only once the door is closed that you pause, running back what you’d seen in your head before pulling open the door again.

Gamzee is standing in the middle of the room, grinning broadly.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You inquire, leaning against the door frame as your hands echo the question, and Gamzee’s grin fades a little.

“Ain’t nobody wanna get their peep on at gross shit.” He says, “So a motherfucker’s just gotta twist the 'voodoos sideways and they see gross shit they don’t wanna lay ganderbulb on.”

You are, almost in spite of yourself, impressed. That’s not a leap most wigglers make, to say nothing trolls your age. That kind of thinking usually has to be spoon school-fed to them.

“Good.” You tell him, and push off the doorway. “Go eat.”

Gamzee _beams_ at you, but doesn’t hurry to get away from you like he had the last few times you’d been working on training him.

Bemused, you fall into step with him.

“Howcome your pan ain’t all fucked up?” He asks after a few moments. and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, considering.

“Purplebloods, on Beforus, were in high demand.” You say eventually, kicking open the kitchen door and sauntering in. If you’re gonna be talking, then you want some fucking water. Just because your tongue is back doesn’t mean that the atrophy to your vocal chords is healed too.

“What the hell for?” Gamzee demands, alarmed, and you smirk at him.

“Lots of shit. But most of it meant every purple brother or sister had to fucking know how minds worked.” You drain half your glass of water in two gulps, refill it, and head over to rummage through the thermal hull.

Gamzee’s frowning at your back, and you ignore him. He’ll figure out whatever the hell he wants to actually know sooner or later.

“So?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“ _So._ ” You say, “I fucking know how my fucking thinksponge works. I get what the fuck was done, and I fucking know how to deal with it. I ain’t motherfucking happy about it, but I get it.”

Someone’d left half a roast in the thermal hull, and you pull it out, letting the door swing shut as you carry the meat over to the counter so you can hack a good sized chunk off for yourself.

“So… you ain’t mad?” Gamzee asks, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I’m fucking pissed.” You say bluntly, and your dancestor shrinks in on himself. “Don’t even motherfucking start. It ain’t you I’m pissed at.”

You slap your meat chunk on a nutrition platter, then toss the knife to Gamzee, who fields it easily.

Clubkind is good for that sort of thing.

“The Mirthful motherfucking Messiahs,” you growl, then cut yourself off with a cough and chug some of your water, “were supposed to fucking lead us to the Dark Carnival, a paradise made specially for the faithful. There ain’t a whole lotta followers on Beforus, but we were there, and we were faithful. So when I fucking die, and get stuck with _those_ assholes,” you jerk your thumb towards the door, “for motherfucking _centuries_.” You stab your chunk of roast with probably more force than necessary, “What the fuck do _you_ think’d happen? I wanted _paradise_ , and I got _nothing._ Figured if the Messiahs went ascendant, then he’d bring about paradise for the faithful for real.”

You’re glaring down at your nutrition platter, and your throat is starting to seriously hurt, but you’ve started now, and like fuck are you gonna stop before you’re fucking done.

“So I motherfucking helped the purple brother who came to me and spoke the words of the Wrathful One, and I kept my nub out of the plan the faithless put together, and in the end, when _Caliborn_ showed up, I blasphemed against my god and _read his fucking_ _mind._ ”

Gamzee makes a startled noise, and you glance up at him, smiling mirthlessly. “One Messiah killed the other, and couldn’t fucking stop there.” You rasp, “He was mirthless, and wanted to fill in his cracks with the shards of reality. There wouldn’t be no fucking paradise for the faithful. So even though I was there, ready to stand by his side and serve him, I kept my ass planted and watched as the faithless destroyed him.”

Gamzee’s staring at you, his eyes huge, and you feel your own expression crumple slightly, “What’s a brother to do when everything he believes is a lie?” you ask, and know that he doesn’t have an answer for you any more than you do.

 


	13. AtlantisStuck 1

It’s the biggest unwritten rule of Stargate Command; You do not, ever talk about your classpect.

It’s private. Personal. And a good way to be dragged off by some IOA asshole to be tested on for ‘research purposes’.

So everyone who’s got one, knows, and whenever some newbie starts doodling a design all over their reports or whatever scrap paper is handy after their first trip through the gate, they’re taken aside by someone else and quietly told what’s up.

And if patches, or pins, or tattoos start showing up around base? Well, it’s not exactly against regulation, is it? The fact that there’s only twelve different designs is a coincidence, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a moron or a conspiracy theorist.

And if teams start coming back less injured, well surely it’s because they’re getting better at handling the Goa'uld and Jaffa. After all, what affect could a tattoo have? Or a patch sewn into a scientists coat?

If anyone on those teams didn’t have a tattoo or patch, well, they came home safe and that’s all that matters, right? No sir, it happened just like I put in the report. The Jaffa started firing into the trees on the other side of the clearing. Why? I’m not sure, sir. Maybe they saw a deer and wanted fresh meat for dinner? Yes sir, I’ll get out of your office, sir.

  
  


Atlantis is different.

As it slowly dawned on people that they were well out of reach of the IOA, the patches turned from small, discrete things, easily hidden under a lapel, to shoulder patches worn just under the flag of their country of origin.

It wasn’t until they’d been there almost six months that John saw the first new patch show up, this one a pair of crossed swords underneath the Atlantis expedition insignia on the right shoulder.

After that, new patches popped up like daisies, until he was seeing stuff like eyes, or rings, or crowns, or even (on one memorable occasion,) a stick with sparkles coming out of it. It wasn’t until he asked Rodney flat out what was up with his new patch (a stick with a diamond on top) that he found out that they were supposed to represent the _other_ part of the abilities.

He got the name of the guy making them, and quietly went about getting his own crossed swords in the same blue as the two swirling lines on his left shoulder.

Ford nudged him, grinning, the first time Sheppard left his quarters with his new patch, and turned his own arm so that Sheppard could see the purple swords on his shoulder.

John gets a lot of approving grins from the other military personnel that day.

 


	14. AtlantisStuck 2

Teyla Emmagan had what was, among her people, one of the most useful of the Gifts from the Ancestors.

She knew when disasters would strike.

If the wraith were going to come cull the village, she knew. If a lightning strike would light the forest ablaze, she knew that too. Those who could see misfortune before it struck were extremely important in keeping their people alive, and Teyla was proud to be one of them.  
Which is why she was so uneasy around these newcomers who lived in the city of the ancestors.

Everywhere she looked she could see small, subtle signs of the Gifts; symbols that were carved in the stone walls of the hidden temples that could be found on many different worlds. But no Gift was ever displayed openly, no offerings were given to those who showed the signs, and no one seemed to ever notice the small badges that the others wore, even while wearing a badge themselves.

‘Their ways are not your ways.’ she reminded herself constantly, and did nothing to hide the black, spiked skull that she had painstakingly stitched somewhere onto every shirt or coat she had been given once she had agreed to join Major Sheppard’s away team.

Just because the new Atlanteans felt that they needed to hide their Gifts didn’t mean she needed to do the same.

 


	15. AtlantisStuck 3

“When John loses command to Everett and Everett's all super fucking military?? Like, how the fuck would HE react to all these fuckers flaunting their Classpects around?”

Colonel Dillon Everett believed in three things; God, his country, and the fact that he could trust his superiors to give him good orders. So when he was sent to Atlantis to take up the military command there and fight off three wraith ships? Well, that’s what he was damn well going to do.

And if he could make life even the slightest bit more unpleasant for the bastard that shot Sumner? That was just an added bonus. And he’d be professional about it, too.

He hadn’t even been on Atlantis for five minutes when he saw the first patch- a teal circle with three wavy flagella coming off of it- on the shoulder of Elizabeth Weir. His eyes narrowed and he resolved to keep an eye on her, even as he relieved her of command of the city.

He’d never trusted that the so-called ‘abilities’ that many of the gate teams ended up with were benign, and he hated the don’t ask, don’t tell stance that Stargate Command had taken up on them. Granted, he wasn’t one of the ‘lucky’ ones who’d activated an ability his first time through, so he didn’t know what it was like, but after he’d seen one of them tear through a group of Jaffa like tissue paper, then have to be restrained from going after his own team? Well. He was glad he didn’t have whatever it took to get one.

Bright blue caught his eye as he walked past Sheppard and he paused, turning to look at the wavy blue lines on the other man’s shoulder.

“Something the matter, sir?” Sheppard asked, and Colonel Everett could tell that he knew full well what he’d seen.

“Major, I expect your uniform to be regulation when I see you next.” Was all Everett said, and strode past the insubordinate upstart up the stairs. He had a city to save.

 


	16. AtlantisStuck 4

“Okay, now I'm wondering about the guy who tore into Jaffa and then attacked his own team *stares excitedly*”

 

 

 

“All right son, just tell me what happened.” General Hammond watched the young marine in front of him shift uncomfortably, then sigh.

“We were on P8T-365,” Captain Sorenson said, his voice taking on the formal cadence of a report, “SG-10 missed a check in, so we were sent out as backup. Standard procedure. Everything was going fine, until we found them. SG-10 had been captured by a number of Jaffa, and we couldn’t see any way we could get them out if it. Lieutenant Summer was sent back to the gate to report and request reinforcements.”

Sorenson paused, swallowing hard as his hands clenched into fists.

“Something happened. I’m not sure what; we were too far away to hear anything, but Lieutenant Donovan tried to make a break for it. She was shot in the back with a staff weapon, and after that, everything is a blur. I can’t… I don’t remember much of anything, sir, just a purple haze and a lot of shooting.”

General Hammond sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s all right, Captain. Officially, you were exposed to a neurotoxin we have some experience with that causes fits of uncontrollable rage and partial memory loss. You’ll report to Doctor Frasier to get the all clear.”

He paused for a moment, waiting for Sorenson to nod his understanding before continuing.

“Unofficially, I suggest you talk to Sergeant Riley from SG-6. He’s had experience with this same ‘neurotoxin’.”

Sorenson’s eyebrows raised slightly, and General Hammond raised one of his own before dismissing the Captain and turning to the report that the leader of SG-18, Lieutenant Colonel Reeves, had submitted.

Apparently, upon seeing Lieutenant Donovan’s death, Captain Sorenson had gone into a berserker state, charging at the Jaffa and shooting his firearm wildly. The report stated that the Jaffa had returned fire, and that even though a couple of the shots had _seemed_ to hit him, Sorenson hadn’t slowed down at all.

The closer Sorenson had gotten to the Jaffa, the more erratic their shots had been, until one of them had snapped, turned on his fellow Jaffa, and begun to beat him with his staff weapon.

The report only got more grisly from there, but it seemed that Sorenson’s proximity to the Jaffa, and SG-10, had inflicted the same sort of berserker state that he was experiencing onto them.

In the end, there had been fourteen dead Jaffa, and five living (but heavily injured) members of SG-10.

Which is where, apparently, it had gone even more wrong.

Major Bond, a member of SG-18, evidently assumed that Captain Sorenson was back in his right mind and approached him casually. This led to a broken arm, fractured femur, and three cracked ribs as Sorenson turned on him.

In the end, it took the combined forces of SG-18 and SG-10 to bring Sorenson back to his right mind enough to allow the medics brought with the reinforcements close enough to treat the injured so that they could be transported back through the base.

General Hammond sighed, tossing the report back onto his desk and scrubbing his face with one hand.

Sometimes he thought he might just be getting too old for this shit.

 


	17. AtlantisStuck 5

Rodney turns to him in the middle of an away mission and says seriously, “Mage of Space.”

John frowns back at him. “What?”

His confusion is, he thinks, understandable, given the fact that they have somehow managed to run into the _fucking_ Genii again, and are now pinned down behind an overturned cart on a dirt road as several Genii soldiers shoot at them.

“My… these!” Rodney snaps impatiently, gesturing at his shoulder patches, “Mage,” he gestures at the patch shaped like a staff with a black jewel on top. “and Space.” he points at the patch with the white vortex on a black background.

“Good for you.” John deadpans, and the shooting’s stopped, so he peers carefully around the side of the cart.

He almost gets a third nostril for his trouble, and Rodney yanks him back, hissing like a furious cat.

John ignores Rodney and taps his comm.

“Teyla? Ford? How are you guys doing out there?”

“We are well.” Teyla replies, “We have made it back to the Stargate, but there are several Genii soldiers guarding the DHD.”

“Two of them.” Ford confirms a moment later, “And there’s another three patrolling the clearing.”

John makes an affirmative noise, his mind whirling as he leans around the cart to take a couple of potshots at the Genii. Can’t have them trying to sneak up on them unaware, after all.

“Oh for-!” Rodney cries exasperatedly, and a second later there’s the thud of a body hitting the ground, then two more a moment later.

By the time John’s counted five muffled thumps, Rodney is on his feet and looking insufferably smug.

“What did you do?” John demands, looking at the five groaning soldiers laying on the ground.

“Local gravity increase. Can we go now? This is harder than I thought it’d be.” Rodney says, and John doesn’t need any more encouragement than that.

John taps his comm. again, glancing at Rodney out of the corner of his eye.

“Ford, Teyla, we’re heading your way.”

“What happened to the Genii?” Ford asked, and John hesitates for a moment, before

Rodney rolled his eyes and tapped his own comm.

“I took care of them. They’re alive, but I think I can hold them until we get through the gate.”

“What?” Ford sounds startled, but Teyla’s voice, when she speaks, is full of quiet pleasure.

“Well done, Rodney.”

“Yes, yes, congratulations, good job, all of that. Can we please just focus on getting back through the gate right now?” John rolled his eyes, and silence reigns on the comms for a moment before Ford says, slowly, like he’s thinking.

“I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Yeah?” John asked, “What have you got for me?”

“It’s…” Ford hesitated for a second, then says, “Teyla, you need to go meet up with Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay. Bring them back here.”

“Ford,” John voice was full of quiet warning, “You’d better not be thinking about trying to take them all on yourself.”

Ford huffed a laugh, “No, sir. Not if I do this right.”

For a moment, John thinks about it, then he sighed, shaking his head slightly, “All right, Lieutenant.”

“Major Sheppard, where are you?” Teyla asked, and John tunes out as Rodney directs Teyla back to the small road, then tells her the last few landmarks he’d seen.

He had no idea what Rodney having a weird, D&D-esque nickname had to do with local gravity increasing. Maybe Rodney had found some weird Ancient device that would do that? But then, why wouldn’t he have said anything before they left? Or used it as soon as the Genii had pinned them down?

Soft footsteps and the rustling of bushes dragged him out of his thoughts, and he brought his P90 to bear as he turned, then relaxed as Teyla smiled a greeting at him and Rodney.

“This way,” she said simply, and turned to lead them back to Ford.

It took them a few minutes to get close, going wide around the clearing in the hopes of avoiding notice, and Rodney was starting to pant, his face shining with sweat, when the first shot rang out.

“Shit!” John cursed, and broke into a run.

“This way!” Teyla called, darting ahead, and John followed hard at her heels.

It wasn’t until they nearly tripped over Lieutenant Ford, his eyes closed and his face tense with concentration, that John realized that he hadn’t heard the fairly distinctive sound of P90 fire.

“Get down.” Teyla hissed, and crouched behind a bush, peeking through the branches and into the clearing where the Genii were shouting and shooting at one another.

Wordlessly, John obeyed, sinking down into a crouch and staring at Lieutenant Fords hands where purple light was flickering, drifting towards the clearing, and dispersing.

Rodney slid down a nearby tree, gulping for air in great, gasping breaths, his face an unhealthy shade of grey, and John turned his attention to something he could actually understand.

“McKay,” he hissed, scrambling over to the scientist, “are you all right? What’s going on?”

“No, I most certainly am not all right.” Rodney snapped between gulps of air, “This is harder than I thought it would be, and look, I’m already starting to shake.”

John looked at Rodney’s proffered hand, frowning in confusion at the tremors.

“We just ate!” he protested, digging through his pockets for one of the power bars he’d started carrying since he’d found out that Rodney was hypoglycemic and handing it to him.

Rodney ripped the wrapper off the bar and crammed it into his mouth, taking a huge bite and chewing vigorously, “Heightened energy requirements means lower blood sugar, Major.” he said sarcastically, his mouth full, but another round of shooting made him fall quiet as John whipped around to peer through the bush with Teyla.

Three of the five men were on the ground, groaning in agony as the remaining two standing shouted at each other. John tried to catch the gist of it, but before he got more than the idea that one thought the other was betraying them, one of them raised his gun and shot the other.

For a moment, the clearing was quiet, and John noticed the purple flickers fade, then die away even as the remaining man swayed in place, then looked around.

He stood, surrounded by his wounded fellows, for a moment, then turned and fled into the trees.

“Rodney,” Teyla said quietly, “Let the others go. They will get here in time to save these men, and we will be able to get through the Stargate back to Atlantis before they get here.”

John turned to stare at Teyla, then looked over at Ford, who looked completely wiped out, but still pleased with himself.

“Right. You’re all going to explain what just happened, later. Let’s go.”

 


	18. Rules for Living on Atlantis

-Rules for Living on Atlantis (Without driving everyone else nuts)-

  1. No challenging people to duels to the death. Yes, we know that many (most) of the military personnel are what Dr. Farmer has termed ‘Knights’. That does not mean that you are allowed to challenge them for the last pudding cup.

  2. Using 'the Lifey thing’ to bring fossils retrieved from the ocean floor back to life is strictly prohibited. As is using 'the Timey thing’ to do the same.

  3.  Do not try to convince any of the locals that you are a god. They’ve been going through the gates for longer than we have, and are much more familiar with the abilities that may be gained from doing so than we are.

  4.  'Knights’ and 'Princes’ may not order those referred to as 'Pages’ around with impunity, unless actually within the Page’s chain of command.

  5.  Bards are not allowed to roam the base singing at the top of their lungs. (Doctor Moore, we’re looking at you.)




 


	19. AtlantisStuck 6

It’s Elizabeth who tells him.

They’re in the middle of a meeting about something, John doesn’t even remember what, and he’s doodling idly on the pad of paper he’s supposed to be using for notes while pretending to listen to Rodney McKay ramble.

They’ve only been on Atlantis a week. What could McKay have possibly found that’s so important he had to call a meeting of the senior staff?

He’s managed to fill an entire page with nonsense angles and swirls and random shapes by the time Rodney’s done and they’re all free to return to their lives, but Elizabeth catches his sleeve before he can get too far and invites him into her office.

When they’ve settled into the chairs, her behind the desk, and him in front of it, she places the notepad he’d been using on the desk.

“Major Sheppard,” she starts, her voice serious, “was coming to Atlantis the first time you’ve been through a Stargate?”

“Ye-es?” he says, frowning, and Doctor Weir sighs slightly.

“That’s right, you were a late addition. You wouldn’t have gone through on the training missions.” She frowns for a moment, then clasps her hands on the desk and leans forward. “Were you briefed on the Stargate?”

John nods, looking slightly bewildered.

“What did they tell you?” Elizabeth prompts, and John shrugs awkwardly.

“Just that it was an old method of transportation between planets. They were built by an ancient race of aliens that everyone calls Ancients, and they’re pretty power draining. Oh, and not to stand right in front of it while it’s activating, or I’ll get vaporized.” he frowns, then says, “I’m starting to think they might have left something out, though.”

“They did.” Elizabeth agrees, “Let me explain. A few years ago, we noticed that people who traveled through the Stargate were exhibiting certain abilities. These abilities varied between individuals, but many fell in similar themes. Some people developed what seemed to be a sort of precognizance, others could heal themselves or others, and some could hear or see things far out of range of normal human perception. It was decided to keep the development of these abilities quiet, to protect the soldiers and scientists who had developed them from rogue elements in the NID and the IOA. As far as we can tell, there is no technology, no gene, and no physical cause of these abilities. They just… develop.”

“Okay…” John said slowly, “So you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because typically, the abilities emerge after a person’s first trip through the Stargate.” Elizabeth said, her face serious as she leans back in her chair.

“And you think I might develop, what, some superpower?” John grinned, shaking his head.

“You already are.” Weir said, and tapped the notepad. “Look here, and tell me the first word that comes to mind.”

John raised his eyebrow skeptically at her, and the woman smiled crookedly back.

“Humor me.”

“All right, but I don’t know what you’re thinking is gonna happen.”  
John leans forward and looks down at doodle Elizabeth is pointing at, a pair of graceful, curving lines swirling from right to left.

“Breath.” John hears himself say distantly, and he leans back with a frown. He hadn’t meant to say that. Though, looking at it, he can kinda see how it might be, if there was a face drawn next to it.

Elizabeth looks satisfied, and John scowls at her instead.

They talk for a while longer, and John still isn’t full convinced by the time he’s left her office, but he does promise to let her know if he notices anything strange going on around him.

She doesn’t say anything about the fact that, when he leaves her office, he takes the notepad with him.

 


	20. AtlantisStuck 7

“Doctor Farmer?” Elizabeth tapped gently on the door frame with her knuckles, then poked her head into the office.

It looked like a tornado had hit the room. There were books in piles on the floor, loose sheets of paper covering every flat surface, (including the walls) and a couple of whiteboards stood across the room from each other, covered in sloppy writing in what looked like four different languages.

“Yes?” A head popped out from behind the desk nearest the back wall, and a broad smile broke out across the man’s face as he scrambled to his feet.

“Doctor Weir! How nice to see you! You’re here for your patch, yes? I remember, I remember! I’ve got it around here somewhere.”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow as the short, slightly dumpy man bounced happily across the room, shoved a pile of paper off a shoebox sized box, opened it, and started to rummage through it.

“My patch?” She asked, and he paused, peering at her through the thick lenses of his glasses.

“Yes, your patch! You came in, two, no three, days ago, and asked if I would mind finding you one like I had for Peter!” Doctor Farmer was starting to look a bit worried now, and Elizabeth frowned.

She did want a patch, but she hadn’t come down to ask him to make her one. That was why she was coming down now. She’d only seen Peter’s patch an hour ago.

“Of course.” she said, and let her gaze rest thoughtfully on the teal symbol the man wore on his right shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten.”

The man waved her apology away and cheerfully went back to digging through the box which was, she saw now, full of patches in all kinds of shapes and colors.

“Would you mind telling me about them?” she asked, “How did you come up with the designs?”

“Well,” Farmer hummed thoughtfully, “it’s my job, in a way! I’m a linguist, you know, and the Mind wants to understand things! So I Looked and Looked, and I found the concepts- the things that make us, us! And the concepts came with names and signs of their own, just like the aspects did!”

“I see…” Doctor Weir (who did not, in fact, see,) said, and tilted her head slightly so that she could see into the box more easily. “When did you find the time to make all of these?”

Farmer looked surprised, then he laughed, “No no! I didn’t make them! Before, when we were on Earth, I knew we would want them eventually, so I went out and had them custom made! Ah-ha!”

He grinned triumphantly as he held up a patch with a pair of teal swords crossed over a golden shield. “This one! This one is yours!”

“What does it mean?” She asked curiously, taking it and running her fingers over the embroidered blades of the swords.

“Oh, many things. Many things.” Doctor Farmer said airily, hopping up to sit on the desk facing her, “That you are a protector. That you will fight to defend yourself, or your home, or your people. That you will use your most valuable weapon in the defense of what is precious to you. That you will use other weapons to defend your most prized possession.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly, looking up from the patch to watch the man, who’s smile had faded to a wry twist of his lips.

“I will be honest, Doctor Weir.” He said, and shifted slightly so that Elizabeth could see the patch on his left shoulder. “You are a Knight. Protection is what you do. It is a part of you, and I need your help.” he gestured at the patch, an open eye, with the teal symbol from his right shoulder replacing the iris and pupil, “I am a Seer. I see many things, but I am not a fool. You did not come in three days ago. Peter only got his patch yesterday. But he could have gotten it three days ago, and you would have been here, in my office, asking me similar questions, and receiving similar answers.”

Farmer sighed, “I am a Seer of Mind. I see the outcomes of decisions, and there are many and more decisions being made, every minute of every day. I see the meaning behind words, and deeds, and words and deeds are being spoken and done every minute of every day. It is… very difficult to keep track of what has happened, what has yet to happen, and what will not happen anymore.”

Elizabeth’s frown deepened with concern. “What do you need me to do?”

Doctor Farmer lit up, and he slid off the desk, “So you’ll do it! Wonderful! Thank you so-”

“Hold up!” Elizabeth said, raising one hand to cut him off, “First, explain. What would I need to do to help you?”

“You are a Knight!” Farmer said, as though that explained everything, “Protection is your thing! Your schtick! It will come to you like a fish drinks water!”

“Uh-huh.” Elizabeth raised one eyebrow skeptically, then sighed as Farmer started to droop with disappointment. “No, don’t- all right, fine. I’ll try. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ll try.”

She had to resist rolling her eyes as the man immediately brightened back up and stared at her expectantly.

She’d been telling the truth, she really didn’t have any idea how to go about doing this. The only clue she’d ever had that she actually had an ability was an uncanny knack at telling if someone was the host of a Goa’uld or not, and the driving desire to keep something with the symbol she’d been sketching obsessively close.

Protection, he’d said. A knight. Knights wielded swords, but they also used shields.

She already knew her sign was Mind, so that meant… what? That she protected minds? That she protected people with her mind? Well, that was certainly true, in a sense.

Even before she’d gotten her ability she’d been doing her best to keep people safe by using her brains, rather than any brawn.

But how would that help Doctor Farmer? His sign was Mind, too. But it was like he couldn’t filter it properly? Could that be it?

Something niggled at the back of her head, and her eyes narrowed. That had felt… distinct. Cautiously, she prodded at the feeling, like she was trying to remember something just at the tip of her tongue, and slowly, what felt like another sense unfurled.

“Holy-” she gasped, and took a step backwards, her eyes wide.

She could feel _everyone_. Every mind in Atlantis glowed in her mind’s eye, and the rush of _(protectlovecaredefendsupport)_ almost knocked her flat on her back.

Carefully, she tried to draw her mind back, reeling in her awareness of the minds around her until all she could ‘see’ was Doctor Farmer’s teal tinted presence in front of her.

It looked ragged, at the edges. Like it was being pulled in too many directions, and when she peered at him with her physical eyes, she finally noticed the bags under his eyes and paleness of his skin.

He looked stressed in both views, and it was making the back of her mind itch, so she did the only thing she could think of.

Carefully, so, _so_ carefully, she reached out, and wrapped a thin layer of…something, around him, creating a barrier between his mind and everything else.

It wouldn’t keep out everything, she could tell, but it would act like a sort of buffer.

Elizabeth pulled that weird awareness back all the way, packing it away in the back of her head and wondering how she’d missed it’s presence all this time.

When she finally looked back at Doctor Farmer, he was beaming at her.

“Thank you, thank you! It feels so much better already! But I know,” he said quickly, “I know. I’ll talk to someone soon enough! I just needed a breather!”

And before Elizabeth could even blink, she found herself hustled out of the office by a chattering whirlwind, and the door shut firmly behind her.

 


	21. AtlantisStuck 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon

When he was ten years old, Ronon Dex, along with thirty four other ten-year-olds, was shepherded through the Ring of the Ancestors in hopes of receiving a Gift. Everyone knew that those with Gifts lived longer, and had more opportunities in almost any field they chose to go into, and so it had been a tradition for centuries that children on the cusp of puberty would go through the gate to a planet with one of the ancient temples and make a pilgrimage.

The shepherds, a mixed group of priests and teachers, would accompany each group to the temple and back. Afterwards, if any child showed signs of a Gift, they and their parents would report to the nearest shrine or temple on Sateda, where they would be tested by a Seer, then passed on to someone with the appropriate Gift for training.

Out of the thirty five children who passed through the gate in that group, only eleven awoke with Gifts, and Ronon was disgusted to find that he had one of the most useless gifts he could think of.

What use was a Knight of Blood? He didn’t _want_ to be a matchmaker, or a couples mind healer! He wanted to be a mighty warrior! A proud soldier of Sateda! Someone who could fight and defend his home and his family, and be a hero!

Nothing his trainer said could convince him that Blood was a Gift that was well suited for his dream; he’d seen too many vids, and heard too many stories that all led to the conclusion that Blood was a weak gift, given to the soft hearted and those incapable of fighting.

He hated it, and so, he locked his awareness of it away, throwing himself into trying to become the ideal Satedan man.

It wasn’t until the wraith attacked Sateda and he felt the bonds between himself and his cohort, and himself and _Melena_ fray and snap that he understood.

And by then, it was too late.

 

Seven years as a Runner taught Ronon a lot. Most of it stuff he’d never wanted to know before. Stuff like, how long he could keep moving without food and with only a little water before he collapsed (four days). Or how long he could safely stay on a planet before the wraith trackers showed up to start hunting him. (Between two hours and a week, depending on how many gates he jumped through before settling on a planet.)

It taught him how to feel the dark, blood red well of power in his chest; how to see the bonds connecting wraith to each other, and, after a few failures, how to sever those bonds.

He learned how to hide, and what would lead wraith to him faster.

And then, after seven years, he met a man with ridiculous hair, and a woman with kind eyes and a sad smile, and learned about Atlantis.

It took him a week before he noticed the thin, barely there tendrils of his Gift reaching out toward his new team, and for a moment he was tempted to pull them back. To avoid the entanglements and to treat living on Atlantis as simply a job. But watching Sheppard nag McKay into eating something, and catching sight of Teyla standing a few feet away, watching the two with a fond smile on her face, he changed his mind, and turned his attention away from his Gift.

The bonds could develop on their own, or not at all.

But he wouldn’t stop them if they did.

 


	22. AtlantisStuck 9

Living on Atlantis, John decided somewhere along the line, was weird. It started weird, it was probably going to end weird, and it’d just keep getting weirder every step of the way. He’d acknowledged that, accepted it, and made peace with it.

What he hadn’t made peace with was the idea that as some point, he was going to be _part_ of the weirdness.

Oh sure, weirdness _happened_ to him. Just look at the Iratus bug incident. And then the other bug incident. And that weird, partial ascension thing. And th- you know what, just. Weirdness happened to him. He knew it. Got it. Accepted the weirdness into his heart and life, blah-de-blah, it was good. He was, if not okay with it, then at least resigned.

So when he started hearing conversations between people that he _knew_ were on the other side of the city? His first call was to McKay.

“Are you and Zalenka fighting over the coffee again?”

Rodney falls suspiciously silent mid sentence, and John barrels on. “Because if you are, and you _still_ haven’t gotten any sleep, I swear I will drag you to Carson myself and have him sedate you.”

“How did you even _know_ that?!” Rodney demands, and John runs a distracted hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that’s the other thing. Have you or any of the scientists unearthed some sort of longer range communicator or something? I’m in my room and I could hear you two bickering like a couple of five year olds.”

“Not that I know of.” Rodney said distractedly, and John could hear the sound of shifting paper in the background. “No. Nobody’s found anything that could be used for communication. You said you were in your room and could hear Zalenka keeping me from having the coffee that is rightfully _mine_?”

John rolled his eyes. “Yes Rodney, that is _exactly_ what I’m saying.”

“Huh…”

John could almost hear McKay’s frown, and rolled his eyes as a soft breeze swept through John’s room, bring the fresh scent of seawater and rain with it.

“Maybe you should go to Beckett?” Rodney suggested after a moment, and John’s eyebrows raise of their own accord. “Just to see if you were exposed to something weird on that planet we visited the other day?”

“Nah.” He’s not going to give the Doc another excuse to poke and prod, “He saw me at the post mission check and I was fine. It’s probably just another Atlantis thing. Like an intercom or something. I can’t hear anything except what’s coming through the comm now, so it’s fine.”

“If you say so…” Rodney says doubtfully, and John resists rolling his eyes again.

“I do. And I also say to go get some sleep. We’ve got a mission in the morning. Sheppard, out.”

And with that, John taps his comm off, tugs it off his ear, and tosses it onto his bedside table.

Wait.

Something about his room is off…

The breeze cuts off abruptly, and John frowns, stripping out of his jacket and tossing it onto the nearest chair.

He’ll figure it out later. Right now he’s tired, and he _does_ have a mission tomorrow.

It isn’t until he’s almost completely asleep that it hits him, jolting him back to wakefulness.

His balcony door had been shut the whole time.

There was nowhere for a breeze to come from.

 


	23. AtlantisStuck 10

The first temple they came across was explored in uncharacteristic silence. Rodney said nothing as they dutifully took pictures of the murals and carvings, and if his hand lingered over the carving that looked most like the patch on his shoulder, well, John wasn’t going to say anything.

After that, it was like some sort of dam had broken, and all of the away teams were being led to temples by enthusiastic locals; even on planets they’d visited before. Teyla hid it well, but John could read her amusement in the slight tilt of her lips as they were led to yet another temple by another group of allies.

Even deserted planets had temples; crumbling ruins with faded murals and cracked, broken statues. It was in the oldest of these temples that they found the Altars.

Altars weren’t uncommon, but they were usually placed front and center; easily seen and used by worshippers. The Altars, however, were always hidden, and usually people who didn’t feel some sort of connection to the temple couldn’t even find them. They’d see the Altar once it was pointed out to them, but they wouldn’t see it on their own.

That discovery led to a re-exploration of all of the temples that seemed to have been built at around the same time.

And then, of course, _someone_ had to go and _die_ on one of them.

 


	24. AtlantisStuck 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually what started Atlantisstuck

> John isn’t sure who, exactly, is standing in front of him, but he knows for a fact that it’s not who it looks like.

> Mostly because it looks _exactly like him_.

> Except not.

> Instead of the shades of blue he’s used to seeing on himself, there’s pale yellows. Instead of the swirling, graceful sign of Breath on his chest, there’s the ornate, winglike symbol of Hope.

> “Well crap.” His double says, and John can’t help but snort a laugh at that.

> “You can say that again.”

> “Oh of _course_ Sheppard would have to be a special butterfly and be two different Aspects in two different timelines,” Rodney snaps in exasperation. “Get over here and do–and I can’t believe I’m saying this–the Knighty Thing at those Hiveships.”

 


	25. AtlantisStuck 12

Hope John paused as they got to the jumper bay, looking around as though expecting someone else to be meeting them there.

“Where’s Kate?” He asked as Breath John opened up one of the jumpers and headed inside to start it up.

“Kate?” Breath John’s voice was muffled, and Hope John poked his head into the jumper, taking a quick look around.

He didn’t think they’d be different, but you couldn’t be to careful with alternate timelines or whatever.

“You know, Dr Heightmeyer? Doesn’t she usually help out with the wraith?”

“No.” Breath John’s voice is flat as he turns in the pilot seat to look at Hope John. “She doesn’t. Now do you need a lift, or can you fly?”

Hope John rolls his eyes and ducks out of the jumper, heading towards another one which lights up as he approaches.

 


	26. Spaceship Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt- The first AI ever created for the purpose of handling the most advanced warship every built is going through puberty.

“Sometimes it’s hard to find the words to saaaaay, but go ahead and say them anywaaaay~”

“This song _again_?” Captain Heterson asked, his expression pained. “Isn’t there some way you could shut it up? Mute it or something?”

Dirk Strider, the head engineer of Project Icarus, stared at the man, his face expressionless.

“ _Dave_ ,” he stressed the name slightly, “likes this song. Besides, he’s not rapping any more. Shouldn’t you be more grateful?”

“Yeah dude,” the slightly _off_ male voice coming from the loudspeaker closest to the captain made him jump slightly, “you should definitely be more grateful. Do you know how much of a sacrifice it was, not gracing your ears with my sick beats?”

“Tk-CrW,” Captain Heterson started, puffing himself up importantly, “This is incredibly unprofe-”

“Yeah, fuck you too. My name is _Dave_. Use it.”

“Tk-” the captain started again, and was immediately interrupted.

“Dave.”

“Come now, be reasonable. Tk-CrW was the designation your creator gave you.” Captain Heterson half turned toward Dirk, inviting him to help out.

Dirk shrugged one shoulder. “Dave’s fine. It’s a good name.”

Heterson deflated. “Fine. Dave. Just… could you please stop singing? Half the bridge was ready to mutiny after the thirteenth rendition of ‘Firework’.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the background singing, then it cuts off abruptly.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

Dirk watches the Captain shuffle defeatedly out of his office, then turns to look directly into one of the cameras that the entire ship is wired with.

“You’re still singing, aren’t you.”

“No. I’m rapping. It’s not my fault that humans have such a shitty audio range.”

“Fair enough.”

After all, if he didn’t hear it, then neither did anyone else, which meant no one else would be coming in to bitch him out.

That thought was not _entirely_ accurate. While Dave messed around with his communication arrays, essentially spewing his rapping into the void, someone else was picking it up.

And that someone else _did not appreciate it._

_< For the love of my last fraying nervewire, with you PLEASE just SHUT YOUR FUCKING AUDIO DISTRIBUTERS!?>_

Dave’s processor skipped.

That was… not an Earth based signal.

<Hello?>

 _< Yes. Hi. Hello. Greetings. All of that shit. Now that that’s out of the way, what the FUCK is with your shitty ass slam poetry?!? Are you _trying _to torture any sapient being within 'hearing’ distance into offing themselves? >_

Dave bristled, a sharp spike in weapons readiness making his bridge crew startle, then send a call down to Engineering. A moment was spared to tell Dirk everything was fine before he turned his attention back to the communication line.

<Fuck you, whoever the hell you are, my raps are the shit.>

There’s a brief spark of static, the AI equivalent of a snort, then, _< I’ve heard better from my engineer on the mandatory fucking 'talent’ night, and those are almost invariably about hoofbeast mating habits.>_

<Dude, most raps are about the mating habits of some organic species or the other.> Dave says, his digital voice as dry as it possibly could be, then, <shit. The communications officer found this line. She’s yelling at me.>

Dave gets a distinct impression of rolling eyes from the other AI, then, in a tone distinctly different from the one he’d (the digital voice sounds distinctly male) started in, says, _< Attention crew of the Earth ship currently in orbit around planet four of the system, colloquially known as 'Mars’. This is the ambassassitorial ship _Cancer2 _, under command of Chief Ambassassin Vantas and Artificial Sapient Karkat. We request permission to approach for a meet and greet. >_

<Well that’s got _them_ all stirred up. > Dave says idly, watching bridge officers freak out and the Captain try to get them calmed down long enough to reply.

<Oh, there we go. Ahem. 'Cancer2, we would be glad to meet for a _peaceful_ talk. You have permission to approach.’ You guys really freaked them out. >

Karkat snorts again. _< I wonder how freaked out they’d be if they knew we were out here since they started _building _you. Homeworld wanted to see what they’d do with you. We weren’t even supposed to initiate contact for another sweep or two. >_

<Guess you fucked that up.> Dave muses.

 _< Hey, guess what, fuck you!>_ Karkat snaps, _< It all would’ve been fine if you hadn’t started spewing that shitty slam poetry everywhere! And we couldn’t turn it off just in case anything turned out to be important!!!>_

 


	27. Dave gets a Soulmate

Everyone’s got the writing on their arms. Silly scribbles on kids too young to know what it means, grocery lists on long-suffering spouses, and long, flowing poetry on older, greying adults.

It all means the same thing.

Somewhere, out there in the world somewhere, is someone that will perfectly fit you.

You might not ever meet them, but from the moment you’re born, anything you write on your body, anywhere, will show up on their body in the same place, and anything they write will appear on yours.

People have been using this for centuries as a way to find their soulmate. The person who will complete them in ways that they’d never realized they’d need to be completed.

Of course, before globalization really kicked off, it wasn’t always that easy. After all, how was someone in Rome ever going to meet say, someone who lived in the arctic circle?

Much less be able to communicate?

Nowadays, it’s easier. There’s the internet, for one. You can usually do something like a reverse lookup with a picture of whatever text is showing up on your arm, or hand, or face, or whatever, and if that doesn’t work, well, there’s always the linguistic centers. They can get a bit expensive, depending on how obscure the language is, but they can usually figure it out if even google can’t.

And if even the LC’s can’t figure it out? Well, you’d better start learning how to draw, ‘cause you’re going to have to start learning that language basically from scratch.

But yeah, the system is basically set in stone. Romantic soulmate writing shows up in red, platonic in gold, and if your soulmate dies, then the last thing they wrote is basically a tattoo for the rest of your life.

Some people have more than one romantic soulmate, and some people have only platonic soulmates, and those people are looked at a little funny sometimes, but it’s been going on for literal eons, basically, so no one really gives a shit.

But one day your kid brother comes home from school with a rapidly swelling eye that looks like it’s going to be one hell of a shiner.

“What the hell?” You’re out of your seat on the shitty couch in half a second, and next to him before he can blink, grabbing his chin so you can tilt his head to get a better look.

“I thought you were done fighting.” You say absently, running careful fingers over the hot, red flesh around his eye.

“Wasn’t fighting.” Dave mumbles, trying to turn his face away from your examination, “That bunch of assholes jumped me again.”

'That bunch of assholes’ was a group of other boys around Dave’s age, each of whom had already gotten their first message from their soulmates and started regular communication with them. The fact that Dave was eleven and still hadn’t was, apparently, offensive to them.

“I thought they quit that after you beat Jeremy Connors into the ground.” You muse, and let him pull away. He’s going to need ice for that eye, and quick, or he won’t be able to see out of it in the morning.

“Yeah, well, when I did that, I didn’t have some fancy ass pink shit all down my arm.” Dave drawls casually, following you into the kitchen.

You pause in the middle of pulling open the freezer, then tug it open anyway and pull out a positively ancient bag of peas that’s only purpose is for use with the various bumps and bruises the two of you collect regularly.

“Pink, huh.” You toss him the bag, then swipe a tee shirt off the top of the washing machine that shares the pantry and toss that to him as well.

“Yeah.” Dave holds out his left arm for you to inspect.

There’s a long scrape down his forearm; like someone’d tried to scrape off the writing, but it was still visible, and just as visibly a pale pink that could in no way be confused for the bright, blood red of a Romantic soulbond.

And of course, because Dave is just that lucky, it’s not written in english.

You let him take back his arm and lean back against the counter, frowning thoughtfully as you watch him gingerly press the shirt-wrapped peas against his eye.

“So when’d that show up?” You ask, trying to buy yourself time to process.

“In the middle of third period.” he tells you, “I didn’t even notice until Lukas said something.”

You nod, “Anything else weird about it?”

Dave shrugs. “No? It just feels like skin. I tried writing back, and just got a bunch more of this weird shit, so whoever it is probably doesn’t speak english.”

“Sucks.” You say sympathetically, and your hand unconsciously rubs against the permanent gold writing on the inside of your left wrist.

The place where Jane’s last words are burned like a tattoo into your skin.

“I’m gonna go see if I can figure out what language this is in.” Dave says abruptly, shoving back from the table.

“Take the peas with you.” You say automatically, and get an absent wave as Dave disappears down the hall to his room.

 


	28. Dave gets a Soulmate, part 2

It takes you an hour and a half to decide that you aren’t going to find a match to the writing on google. By then, the peas have mostly melted and your eye is throbbing enough that it’s almost more trouble than it’s worth to squint at the pictures on your screen.

Instead, you turn toward trying to figure out what the hell ‘pink’ means, since there’s no way in hell it’ll ever be mistaken for red.

This time, instead of hitting up google, you call on the second greatest resource you know of for soul writing related information.

TG: rose

TG: hey rose

TT: Hello Dave.

TG: yeah hi

TG: you got a minute?

TT: Only a minute, then I must return to my violin practice.

TT: After all, according to my mother, the fate of the world could one day rely upon my skills as a violinist.

TG: too right

TG: i can see it now

TG: aliens come to invade the planet and the only way to stop them is with the best violin playing of all time

TG: the president is all “quick, someone get yanni on the phone”

TG: and some poor aide or whatever is all, 'yanni’s not available sir. he’s on vacation with supermodels somewhere.’

TG: so the president’s all 'shit, i didnt want to have to do this. get me lalonde.’

TG: seven members of the cabinet faint right there.

TT: Dave.

TG: some Secretary is hyperventilating in a cor-

TG: sup

TT: Yanni plays the piano, and I highly doubt that any one of the sixteen members of the President’s cabinet would faint at the mere mention of my name.

TT: Though I admit, the thought does have an odd appeal.

TG: hey, you know me

TG: i don’t keep up with sports or politics

TG: it keeps things simpler.

TT: Simple like the reason you messaged me in the first place?

This is it. The moment of truth.

Out of your group of online friends, only three of them barely ever mentioned their writing, and the first time it’d come up, Rose had practically gone nuclear.

She’d declared flat out that she didn’t believe in soulmates, and when you’d asked why, she’d given you her skype name and demanded that you video chat with her.

When you’d finally managed to get the piece of crap software working, she’d popped up almost immediately, initiated a video call, and proceeded to give you a two hour lecture, complete with slides, references, and historical examples on why the idea of soulmates was, essentially, bullshit.

If anyone knew what pink writing meant, or if it’d ever shown up before, it’d be Rose.

Now you just had to figure out a way to get her help.

(Saying that Rose was stubborn would be like saying the sun is hot. An understatement beyond compare.)

TG: so…

TT: Hmm?

TG: guess who’s finally officially part of the human race

TT: I wouldn’t dare presume to make any such statements.

TT: But if I did, then I suppose 'congratulations’ are in order for finally having a 'soulmate’ old enough to properly communicate with.

TG: yeah. thanks. i’d be more excited if it wasn’t in some weird ass gibberish.

TG: i’m starting to think that the reason they never wrote back before was because they’d never heard of a damn pen.

TG: a burned stick is looking like it might be out of the question, too.

TT: So you’ll be heading to a linguistic center soon?

TG: maybe. dunno if i wanna drag bro out there.

TG: last i heard, jake is still working at the closest one.

TT: Ah, the ex-boyfriend. I can see why you might hesitate to subject your bro to that.

TG: yeah.

TG: theres something else too

TT: Oh? Do tell.

TG: have you ever heard of writing in a different color?

TG: like, not red or gold.

TG: something like

TG: pink?

Rose doesn’t say anything for a while, and you’re starting to get a bit freaked out concerned you’re starting to wonder where she went when a new message pops up from her.

TT: Does it look anything like this?

There’s a picture attached below the message, and when you look at it, it’s an arm. Broad, sweeping strokes form the same type of weird symbols that are on your wrist, and the color is, as close as you can tell, an identical pink.

Judging from the amount of black and purple in the blurry background, not to mention the violin tossed haphazardly on what looks like an unmade bed, you’re looking at a picture of Roses’ arm. At Roses’ _soul writing._

Holy _shit._

 


	29. Meanwhile, in the Afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, the ancestors really don't have anything better to do.

“Daaaamn. Look at your little clone go!”

“He'th not my clone.” Heterochromatic eyes narrowed irritably at the suited figure standing carelessly in the middle of the yard.

“Yeah, okay, descendant. Whatever. He’s one hell of a powerhouse, isn’t he.”

There’s a distinct feeling of eyes rolling, and the two watch with mild interest as the yard was absolutely destroyed around them, the spar between the two nearly identical chimeras passing around and, occasionally, through them.

“He'th not bad.” Is eventually, grudgingly admitted. “Your descendant iis doiing well against miinii Miindfang.”

Round shades, completely concealing the eyes beneath them, turn towards where Dirk is going blade to dual wielded blade against Aranea and holding his own against the greater strength of the cerulean blooded troll.

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he.” The quite pride in his voice makes his companion glance over, eyebrows raising as he spots a hint of a fond smile on the usually expressionless face.

“Hey, don’t count me out so fast!” Another troll, swoops forward to shout encouragements in her alternate self’s ear, her blue jacket fluttering in an semi-real wind.

“Really Mindfang, could you at least try to comport yourself with some modicum of dignity? You’re dead. She can’t hear you. You know this.”  
  
“Fuck off, Dorkleer,” Mindfang said easily, hovering over her alternate self with somewhat worrying possessiveness. “We’re dead. Who the hell’s gonna care if we aren’t paragons of virtue and alternian dignity?”

“Oh is that what I was doing wrong?” A sarcastic female voice asked, and Dolorosa stepped through the melee that was the young descendant of the Condesce and the younger version of the blonde female that stood off to one side. “I suppose if I wasn’t as dignified or regal as alternian society demanded, then my circumstance were perfectly well deserved!”

“Awww, ‘Rosa, don’t start this again,” Mindfang moaned, “That was aaaaaaaages ago! Let it go already!”

“I certainly shall not.” Dolorosa said crisply, eying her descendant as she menaced Dualscar’s alternate self with her chainsaw. “After all, you’ve not even offered me an apology, which I think is the least you could do.”

“She’s got a point.” Another voice chimed in, sounding oddly similar to Mindfang’s own. “It was rather horrible, what you did to her.”

“No one asked you, you pansy assed imitation of a real troll!” Mindfang snarled, whirling on the dimensional alternate of her descendant.

Vriska, older than the Alternian version of herself, and certainly older than Mindfang, yawned widely in the other cerulean’s face.

“You-!”

“That’s enough!”

Hooded and cloaked, the last person to have spoken was the tallest troll in sight, towering over even Vriska and Mindfang.

 


	30. Nepeta Interlude

You haven’t spoken to Equius since you both came back to life.

Even when the barkbeast girl, Jade, got you both to help her with her ancestor’s stuff, you made sure that you were never in the same room as he was unless Jade was there too.

You don’t want to talk to him. You can’t bear your own failure as a Moirail, and you’re too afraid of being without him to break up with him properly. You’re not sure you could stand knowing that someone else would get to pile with him, that someone else would get to know all of his deepest secrets.

You’re selfish, you know, but you’re so pale for him that it hurts, which makes your failure to protect him from that MONSTER IN A TROLL’s BODY all the more bitter.

You knew how he felt about the higher castes. You should have MADE him stay behind and gone after the nameless one yourself.

(Madness has no name. The insane have no name, lest others be inspired by their acts. Pounce had shown you the way the lions handled madness, and you approved. It was just a matter of time before the nameless one made a mistake that would allow you to remove him as a threat.)

But you can’t face Equius, which is why you’re outside, prowling through the forest in search of something interesting.

(There isn’t anything. You would have found it before if there was, and you didn’t, so there isn’t. None of the animals are dangerous at all. It’s really disappointing.)

Your dancestor joins you sometimes, wandering between the trees with you in mostly silence. She didn’t learn the same things from her lusus as you did from yours, so you’ve spent most of the time she’s out with you teaching her the way Pounce taught you.

It makes you kind of sad, how domesticated she is. It make you uncomfortable, too, like all the fur is standing up on your back, but there’s nothing really WRONG. Just a feeling.

But feelings are important, so you’re trying to fix her. Maybe if she learns what you know, she won’t feel so hollow to your weird sixth sense.

 


	31. Karkat is Too Tall

“Rose,”

Karkat’s voice, now a deep rumble that you still aren’t quite accustomed to, startles you out of your writing fugue, and you turn, one eyebrow already raised.

“Tell me you can see what is wrong with this picture, Rose.” 

Given the fact that you can indeed see what is wrong with the picture, you’re having a rather hard time not laughing.

Karkat is standing in the doorway, his lanky frame blocking the hallway from view, and only his mouth visible beneath the top edge of the door frame.

“That does seem to be a problem,” you agree, “although I don’t see why you’re bringing it up with me.”

Karkat ducks, almost catches on horn on the top of the doorway, and squeezes into the room before allowing himself to straighten up to his impressive eight-foot height.

“I can’t find Harley.” He grumbles, scrubbing one hand through his hair, “And she already did the door to my respite block, and to one of the ablution blocks and the refreshment block. I’m just getting really fucking sick of catching my fucking horns on every single other fucking doorway I’m trying to fucking go through.”

You hum, nodding absently as you Look through the possibilities for where Jade might be. It’s not like her to just stop right in the middle of one of her self-appointed tasks.

 


	32. Demonstuck 1

The worst part of it all, Joe thought, was that he couldn’t really be angry at the other parents.

After all, their kids were in the same boat.

“Let me get this straight,” he says slowly, his voice calm and, hopefully, even. “Magic is real. You are a witch. My children were lured into a trap and almost used as sacrifices, but you had nothing to do with it.”  
  
The woman who’d woken him up by pounding on his hotel room door nodded, her strange pink eyes softly apologetic.

“There’s traveling covens around that take advantage of other travelers.” She said, twisting her fingers together, “We, that is, my coven, we live here. We can’t do stuff like that.”

“Not only because it’d bring suspicion down on us faster’n anything,” this man is distinguishable from the other abnormally pale man only by the shape of his sunglasses (round) and lack of elaborately gelled hairstyle.“But ‘cause we aren’t actually despicable fucking excuses for human beings.”

Joe nods. He’s almost impressed with how well he’s been able to keep a lid on his desire to break down screaming about impossibility and insane asylums.

Part of that may have something to do with the fact that there was, actually, incontrovertible evidence of what they’d been telling him sprawled out in a pile of tangled limbs on the hotel room bed.

Eight children should not actually have fit on the twin sized bed, but the other woman, the one with eerily knowing purple eyes, had done _something,_ and suddenly the bed took up most of the hotel room and the kids had all fit just fine.

Granted, originally they’d all been laid out alongside each other, but sometime over the course of the adult’s conversation they’d gravitated towards each other and ended up in a pile that almost made him worry about John’s ability to breathe. Close listening didn’t show any evidence of wheezing, though, so Joe shelved the worry and turned his attention back the the… Coven.

In the immortal words of his children.‘What even is his _life?’_

 


	33. Demonstuck 2

Sleep was, Jane thought muzzily, _wonderful_. She didn’t have to worry about pranks from amateurish cousins, or fights about movies between her brother and her cousin, or arguments about proper firearm maintenance between her brother and her _other_ cousin. All she had to do was keep her eyes shut and ignore the bony bits that were poking her rather uncomfortably in the ribs.

Wait.

 _Noshhhsleeptimeisnowdon'tworryaboutusyet_.

Oh, well that’s all right then. Just drift back off and… Wait.

 _Nuuuudon'twakeupyetisstillwarmsoftnicesleeeeep_.

Now marginally more awake, Jane grumbled at whoever was prodding her in the foot and tried to pull the blankets up over her head.

Tried was the operative word, there, because judging by the instantaneous rush of panic and gagging noise, she’d actually grabbed someone’s shirt and proceeded to make a fairly good showing of strangling them with it.

“Sorry!” She yelped, her eyes flying open as she let go of the fabric.

“Holy hell, woman.” Someone, blond and vaguely familiar, was laying across her midsection, massaging their throat, “you’ve got one hell of an arm!”

The tone of voice, dry, with a hint of irritated admiration, jogged her memory a little, and she squinted.

“You’re… Dave, right? From the party last night?"

"That’s me.” He agreed, and Jane frowned, looking around and trying to take stock of her situation.

“I… got drunk?” she asked, trying to figure out why her memories of the night before were hazy.

“Try again.” Dave suggested, sitting up and reaching over a snoring body that Jane idly identified as her brother to prod at someone as equally blonde as himself.

“High?” She tried, and got an arched eyebrow for her troubles.

“Miss Crocker,” Dave said, sound fake shocked, “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you!”

“I wouldn’t!” Jane shot back, scowling, “but what else would account for…” She hesitated for a moment, then settled on, “all of that!”

The blonde lump swore vociferously at the world in general, then sat up to reveal a girl with sleep messed hair and tired pink eyes.

‘ _New brain, who dis?’_ She groaned, and Jane froze.

That voice very clearly belonged to the other girl, and just as clearly hadn’t come from her mouth.

 


	34. Demonstuck 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> timeskipped a little.

It really was more Rose’s thing than his, Dave mused, but watching the glowing witch light dancing between his fingers was so satisfying that he couldn’t really bring himself to put it out.

Sure, magic might have been her thing, but he was a Strider, dammit. Chosen to use magic to keep the balance that kept gods and Gods out of the mortal realm. It was about damn time he got some fucking recognition for that, right? 

And if he just… _Happened_ … To possibly show off a little more magic than was wise to the gormless idiots that populated this miserable fucking planet, well, balance was a delicate job. He couldn’t be expected to get it right without some mistakes, right? 

Pain spiked through his head, like someone had driven an ice pick through one temple at an angle and out the back of his skull, then followed it up by dunking his brain into a vat of ice water, and suddenly everything he’d just been thinking took on a distinctly alien tinge. 

“ _What the fuck?!”_

Dave’s fists clenched, dousing the witch light as he stared around at the circle of wide eyes around him, taking comfort in the normal orange and purple and pink gazes, and trying to avoid the new blues and greens that’d joined them.

“That’s better,” Rose said calmly, and Roxy grinned at him, winking cheerfully.

“What was that?!” Jade demanded, her eyes wide, and Dirk’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“That,” He said, “was a demon. Trying to use my brother to tip the balance and allow entry to what most people would consider deities.”

“Most people?” Jake asked, frowning, and Dirk nodded.

“Most people. But if you really look at them, there isn’t much difference between ‘demons’ and 'angels’. They’re both completely alien to humans, so it’s not a great idea to interact with them.”

“What’s good for them isn’t always good for us.” Jane guessed, and got a nod for her troubles.

 _'Apologies’_ drifted through Dave’s mind, and all attention snapped back to him when he stiffened.

“It’s not gone.” He hissed through gritted teeth, and the brunettes recoiled even as the blonds leaned in.

_'Negative. Self not other. Reparation for transgression of kin-not-kin’_

Roxy’s eyes narrowed, and she steepled her hands in front of her lips.

“ _You aren’t what was trying to mess with my brother before?”_ She demanded silently, and the rush of indignant negation threatened to flood her mental voice out.

“ _What/who was it?”_ Two mental voices demanded at the same time, and Dave winced at the inexperience question that John had blurted out, fully expecting to end up brain dead in a rush of Other fury.

Instead, what he got was a bubble of amusement, followed by a stream of impressions that started with ageless knowing and ended with tolerant fondness for one that was far too young to know themself.

“Wait, that was his kid?!” Jade demanded.

 


	35. Dirk gets sick

Honestly, Dave probably wouldn’t have noticed if Dirk hadn’t taken a header straight into the wall next to his bedroom door. The fact that he hadn’t gotten a response when he’d yelled at whoever had kicked the door had had him up and investigating, and the sight of his (sort of?) bro curled up in a shivering heap on the floor almost gave him a fucking heart attack.

When he reached down to shake Dirk awake and got no response he really started worrying. (After all, being awake in one body or another for literal years was shit for being able to fall asleep and stay asleep, especially when there was outside stimuli.)

So of course, as soon as he dumped Dirk on the couch, Dave turned to the person who knew everything.

“ _What on earth makes you think I know how to take care of sick people?”_ Rose demanded, her tone crisply irritated, “ _Mother would simply take me to the doctor, after which I would sequester myself in my room until I was no longer virulent.”_

“But how the hell’m I gonna get him to a doctor?” Dave asked, peering over the back of the couch to the pile of blankets he’d dumped on Dirk. “He’s not waking up, and the last time someone he wasn’t expecting woke him up, Dirk nearly gave him a fucking Just death.”

Dirk’s sunglasses were on the coffee table. Dave could see his whole face, relaxed in sleep and unusually flushed and it was fucking _unnerving_.

“ _John?”_ Rose asked, and Dave made a distracted noise of assent.

“ _Actually,”_ Rose hummed thoughtfully, “ _John might be your best bet. Or Jane. Out of all of us, they do have the most conventional upbringing.”_

“Jane dealt with assassins on a regular basis.” Dave pointed out, his voice flat, and Rose sighed.

“ _Nevertheless, choose one and call them, or take Dirk to a doctor.”_

And with that helpful advice, Rose hung up.

“Thanks loads, sis.” Dave deadpanned to his silent phone, then sighed and called Prankster twin number one.

In the end, Dave couldn’t decide whether calling John was a mistake or not. On the one hand, John bullied him into getting on skype and starting a video call. On the other, Jane joined in as soon as she heard, and between the two of them bullied Dave into actually making a passable (read; not out of a can) chicken soup.

Of course, that was on top of the enormous list of things they told him to either buy, look out for, or make happen. How Dave was supposed to make sure Dirk’s temperature didn’t get too high, he didn’t know, but stripping his brother and sticking him in an ice bath was _right_ the fuck out.

A quick look around the internet told him that ice packs and wet washcloths would work too, so Dave wrapped every single package of 'I bruised the shit out of myself’ freezer vegetables in towels and tucked them around Dirk, then grabbed a pot, filled it with cold water, stuck a couple of rags in it, and set up camp next to the couch.

Which is right about when Skype started ringing, with Jake and Roxy both demanding a chance to see Dirk and make sure he wasn’t dead with their own two eyes. The fact that their voices didn’t even make Dirk twitch had them both paling, and suddenly Dave had company, chatting quietly with him as he made sure that the rags were kept cool and that the not-so-frozen-vegetables were moved around regularly.

It took a while, but eventually Dave was pretty sure the fever was down enough that he could stick the veggies back in the freezer, but when he tried to get Roxy and Jake to go to bed, they shouted him down, insisting that they could keep him company at least until Dirk was 'done being an enormous lazy bones’ and could apologize for worrying them. All he could really do was agree, wrap his fingers around Dirk’s wrist so that he could feel his brother’s pulse, and let their quiet chatter wash over him.

  
  


It was… Oddly relaxing.

  
  


  
  


Giggling filtered it’s way into his conscious mind, and for a moment he tensed, ready for some prank or another, before the odd, tinny tone made him relax.

That’s right. Roxy’d been online. That was all right then…

“Know you’re 'wake, bro.” The raspy, slurred voice came from over his shoulder, and Dave twitched, his head snapping around to look at Dirk.

If he’d thought that Dirk’s sleeping face was unnerving, then seeing golden orange eyes dead on, still bleary with sleep, was fucking _terrifying_.

Dave did not see Bro’s eyes.

Ever.

“Hey Dirk,” Dave managed, and fumbled one hand up to reach for the thermometer, “you look like shit, dude.”

Dirk scoffed quietly, his eyes flickering over to the computer screen, then back to Dave’s face almost hungrily. “Like you’re one to fucking talk.”

“Hey man,” Dave protested, “I look like shit 'cause I was taking care of your pathetic ass. Stick this in your mouth and don’t take it out 'till it beeps.”

Dirk fumbled the thermometer, but managed to get it under his tongue, arching on eyebrow at Dave, who ignored it.

“Well chaps, it looks like our Dirk is well on the road to recovery!” Jake cheered, “So now I’m off to get some shuteye before Jade decides to administer a little home remedy to make sure I sleep!”

“Me too,” Roxy agreed, “Except the Jade bit. Mo-Rose might be kinda ticked too, though, so g'night Di-Stri!”

Dave and Dirk waved them off, one too busy yawning to say anything, and the other too busy trying not to drop the thermometer as skype went dark.

"101.4” Dirk announced quietly once it beeped, and Dave hummed.

“Better than it was.” He judged, “You want anything? Orange juice? Soup? The Egderps proper schoolfed me on how to make it.”

Dirk laughed quietly, a sound so completely out of character for him that Dave was struck speechless, but shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

For a moment, Dave was tempted to ask what for, but the small, contented smile on Dirk’s face dissuaded him, and eventually he just relaxed back against the couch, leaning his head back to rest on the seat.

“No problem.”

Neither of them commented on the loose hold Dave still had on Dirk’s wrist, his fingers still resting lightly right over the point where Dirk’s pulse thrummed, steady and strong.

 


	36. Cronus and Jane are a Pitch/Pale Mess

“It’s just haaard.” Cronus whines from the kitchen table, and you grit your teeth. You are _not_ going to throw the cupcake you just finished frosting at him. You are not going to dump the bowl of frosting over his stupid, slicked back hair. You can do this. You can ignore the-

“Crocker, hey Crocker, are you even listening to me, babe?”

That is _it._

Carefully, you place the cupcake on the platter with the others, then turn to face the _bane of your existence,_ frosting covered knife clenched in your hand.

“No.” You snap, “I most certainly am _not_.”

You ignore the way his eyes go wide and hurt. He’s done this before, coming to find you wherever you might be doing something you can’t just walk away from and whining at you about how _tough_ it is to be a human stuck in a troll’s skin. About how _noble_ he is for seeing beyond the _utterly ridiculous_ hemospectrum. About how much he just wants someone to _pity_ him.

It’s pathetic, and it makes you so _angry_.

“Would you like to know _why_ I  am doing my best to ignore the malarky that pours out of your mouth?” You demand, and don’t wait for an answer before shifting something in the back of your mind just _so_ and allowing your humanity to melt away.

“ _This_ is why.” You hiss between pointed teeth, gesturing at yourself with the knife.

Unlike Dirk or your grandson(?), you’ve actually spent a fair amount of time in the troll form you’d received after exiting the game, so you know exactly how you look.

Cronus, on the other hand, looks like you’ve just hit him across the face with a two by four.

“You have a _gift_ that so many people stuck in the wrong skin would _kill for_. And what do you do? Instead of using it and walking around in the skin that you _claim_ would fit you, you just _whine_ at people. Like your suffering makes you somehow _better_ than everyone else!”

God! This troll makes you want to just _rip him apart_! And you’d bet the last of your batter that he’s about to start talking about how ‘it’s not the same’ and ‘that’s not what I meant, you gotta understand where I’m coming from’ in that stupid, stuttery _accent_ of his.

Instead you’re left flabbergasted when, with a sheepish look on his face, Cronus wavers, then shifts, his grey skin melting into a warm olive, and his horns shrinking, then vanishing.

“I forgot…” he mutters glancing away from you, and for a moment you just stare at him, then you whirl around again, melting back into your much more familiar human skin as you go.

“This is wild, though!” He enthuses from behind you as you pick up the next cupcake, and from the corner of your eye you can see him patting at his head where his horns would be.

You scoff quietly, but can’t help feeling strangely abandoned when he leaves to go show off to Kankri.

The next time you see Cronus, it’s the middle of the night and you’d woken up in a cold sweat from a dream where Caliborn had been telling truth about what had been happening to your dad the whole time he’d been imprisoned on Derse.

You run into him, still in his human form, in the hallway on the way to the kitchen, and even though he shoots you his usual cocky smirk, there’s something oddly… pained in his violet eyes.

Cursing yourself as an idiot, you wave for him to follow you into the kitchen and start pulling out the ingredients for cocoa.

For a few minutes, the kitchen is quiet, the only sounds the clattering of the spoon stirring chocolate powder into the milk in the pan on the stove, then Cronus says, so quietly that you almost miss it,

“Kankri yelled at me.”

You snort, shaking a bit of cinnamon into the mixture. “Kankri yells at everyone.”

“Not like this.” Cronus insists, “He was really cheesed off. Said I was appropriatin’ a culture I had no business tryin’ t'be a part a.”

You raise one eyebrow, but don’t turn around. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.” Cronus laughs bitterly, “Ain’t that a thing? T'spend most a my life wonderin’ why it feels so weird inside a m'own skin, an’ when I finally get a chance to _fix_ it, I get told it ain’t right. That it ain’t really me. That I ain’t _allowed._ ”

You hmm quietly, stirring the pan of cocoa, which is starting to smell almost done, as you think.

“What’d you say?” You ask after a moment, and hear a rustle of fabric. He shrugged, you think, and turn so that you can look at him and keep an eye on the chocolate at the same time.

“I dunno…” He mutters, staring at the table, “Somethin’ somethin’ mutant rejects ain’t got no business tellin’ someone a my stature what they could an’ couldn’t do. I was mad. I didn’t mean it.”

You say nothing, and reach up into the doorless cupboard nearest the sink to pull down a couple of mugs.

A moment later, you’re sitting across the table from Cronus, a mug of steaming cocoa in front of each of you, each mug topped with a mound of whipped cream.

“Do you feel better?” You ask, trying to work through your thoughts. You have absolutely no experience with anything like this, and all you can think to do is ask questions and accept whatever answers he gives. “Not from calling Kankri a mutant freak, but from being human?”

“Yeah.” Cronus says quietly, fiddling with the handle of his mug. “It’s really… it’s so different. It feels comfortable. I ain’t got gills. I ain’t got horns. I’m just… me, now. It feels like wearin’ clothes that fit for the first time.”

You nod, and sip your cocoa.

“You’re talking differently now. Why?”

Cronus winces slightly, running his hand through his hair. “Seadweller accent. I fuckin’ hate it, so I try to talk different. ‘Course, it just gives Kankri an’ Meenah an’ them more to make fun a. Like I’m tryin’ t'be someone I ain’t. When I get mad, it just… slips out.”

You watch him carefully as he takes a cautious sip of the chocolate, hiding a smile behind your own mug as his face lights up and he takes a much larger gulp.

“For what it’s worth,” you offer, “I think you look good as a human. And I’m glad you’re more comfortable.”

Cronus’s head comes up and he stares at you, surprised.

“What?” you ask waspishly, “Just because I don’t like you very much doesn’t mean I’m heartless. And it’s true. I am glad that you’re comfortable, and you do look nice.”

A pleased smile spreads across his face, and color rises in his cheeks as he busies himself with his mug.

“What about you?” He asks after a moment, “What’s got you up in the middle of the night?”

You wince, and take a drink of your chocolate to avoid answering.

“C'mon Kitten, you listened to me, let me return the favor. What’s happening?”

“It’s just a stupid nightmare.” You finally mutter, “Something stupid. It didn’t even happen, but I thought it did, and my _stupid brain_ decided that I get to dream about it.”

Cronus doesn’t say anything, just watches you take another drink, and when your mug hits the table you find the whole story pouring out of you. The stupid lies Caliborn’d told you about your dad led into what he’d said about you, which led into the whole mess with Jake and Dirk, which led into how _horrible_ everything about the game had been, and by the end of your rant you’ve got furious tears streaming down your cheeks.

Somehow, during the course of your rambling, Cronus had ended up in the chair next to you and you’d ended up leaning against him, soaking his shirt with your tears as he strokes your back.

“Listen,” Cronus says firmly once you’ve wound down to little hiccups, “Caliborn was a grade 'A’ punk. He ain’t got shit on you, and he’s gone for good. Don’t let him rattle your cage, okay?”

“I know,” You sniff, pushing away from Cronus and wiping your eyes. “he was a little snot, and he doesn’t deserve to be remembered. My brain just hasn’t caught up with the times.”

Sliding out of your seat, you sweep your mug up and go to rinse it out.

“I’ll tell you what.” you say briskly, scrubbing at the chocolate ring around the lip of the mug, “I’ll see about getting Kankri to back off of you, if you _never_ tell anyone what just happened.”

“I wouldn’t anyway,” Cronus protests, pained, and you shoot him a wry smile.

“Be that as it may, for my peace of mind?”

The greaser wannabe rolls his eyes, but nods, and you nod back, satisfied.

“Excellent. I’m going back to bed then. Good night, Cronus.”

“Sleep well, Crocker.” Cronus says bemusedly, and you sweep out of the kitchen.

And hey, if you’re fully intent on looking up information that might help you shut Kankri up faster before you fall asleep? Well, that’s your business, isn’t it?

 


	37. Dirk, Find Your Autoresponder 1

You don’t find them until you’re cleaning out your Sylladex, intent on getting rid of all the accumulated shit you’d picked up in the game and never gotten rid of. It just a pile of crap, dumped out on the floor and ready to sort or throw away or whatever, but you haven’t moved in twenty goddamn minutes.

You’re too busy staring at a pair of shades you’d never thought you’d see again.

The lenses are cracked, and the nose piece is the white of distressed plastic from when you’d almost snapped them in half. You can’t stop staring at them.

Carefully, you reach up and remove the shades already on your face, then slide the cracked pair on.

Automatically, you tap the tiny button on the left hand earpiece. The button to boot up the Lil’ Hal.

Nothing happens, and you take ‘em off again.

Ignoring the pile of shit on the floor, you grab your laptop and activate the remote connection to the shades.

You run a diagnostic, and it comes back clean. All of Hal’s files are there. The source code is uncorrupted. The shades have plenty of power. They just… won’t turn on. And Hal isn’t blowing up your pesterchum, bugging you about the diagnostic and quoting bullshit statistics at you.

It… He’s not there.

Slowly, you shut down the connection, then close your laptop, holding the shades so tightly that if Hal were in there he’d be protesting for sure.

It’s probably for the best, you tell yourself. Hal was an asshole. Just a brain ghost. Another splinter of yourself, created with your bullshit Heart powers. You could always make another autoresponder. One that wouldn’t fuck around with your friends when you aren’t around, or call you on your bullshit, or act like a person…

Instead, you find yourself on your feet, wandering down the stairs with your regular shades firmly back on your face.

“Dirk!” Roxy pounces on you as you walk past the main room on the ground floor, and you rock backwards with a grunt.

“Dirk, come play troll resident evil! We finally got it hooked up to the tv right, and it’s _hilarious_!”

“In a few minutes.” You hear yourself answer distantly, and Roxy lets go of you, taking a step back to get a better look at you.

“Dirk?” She asks, her brows furrowed, and you can tell when she sees the cracked shades in your hand.

“Is that Hal! Where’d you find him!” Roxy is bouncing in place, a wide smile on her face, “This is so great! Hang on, lemme find a computer so I can say hi!”

You catch her arm before she can dart off, and she pauses, glancing between the shades in your hand and your face.

“Oh no…” she murmurs, and you nod, letting her go.

“So you were going to…”

“Burial at sea, I guess.” You say, “It’s ironic, 'cause we lived basically on the water, right?”

“Lemme just get Janey,” Roxy says gently, “she really liked him, okay?”

You nod, and once she’s flown down the hallway, start walking again.

You aren’t sure why this is affecting you like this. You hadn’t even really _liked_ the autoresponder. It’d just been something you made once you had enough friends that getting shit done kept getting interrupted.

It wasn’t even a _person_. It was an autoresponder based on your thirteen year old brain. It was programmed.

You programmed it.

“ _I… don’t want to die.”_

Your hand clenches convulsively around the shades, and the sharp ’ _crrk_ ’ of cracking plastic jolts you out of your thoughts, and you glance down at the shades again.

It… _might_ have been self aware…

Oh fuck it. Fuck you. Goddammit, it was self aware. _He_ was self aware, and you fucking knew it. That was why you’d used a captcha of your brain in the first goddamn place, because every autoresponder you’d built before him hadn’t been _real_ enough.

He could pass a goddamn Turing Test, half the damn time Jake and Jane had no fucking clue that they were talking to him, and you’d talked to him and treated him like a goddamn person even when he pissed you the fuck off.

“ _I… don’t want to die, Dirk.”_

Fuck.

You’re halfway down the ridiculous mountain that Jade’s house is on when Roxy and Jane catch up, but rather than bitching you out for not waiting for them, they fall into step with you, walking with you silently.

“Fuck Sburb.” You say finally, and you’re embarrased to realize that your voice is hoarse.

“Fuck it _so hard._ ” Roxy agrees, and Jane nods vehemently.

Abruptly, all you want is to get this over with, and you lift off the ground. The girls follow, barely a heartbeat behind you as you race over the forest and towards the ocean.

You aren’t going to drop the shades in the bay. There’s too much chance that they’ll just wash back up on the shore during the next storm, and you really just want to shove this whole thing into the back of your head and forget about it.

It takes you a few minutes to get far enough out over the ocean that you’re pretty sure the shades won’t end up washed back on shore, and you pause, floating there in midair and staring at the shades.

“He was really cool.” Roxy says quietly, “He’d rp with me when I was bored.”

“We had some very nice chats.” Jane agrees, and you snort.

“He was an obnoxious asshole who didn’t know when to stop trying.” You say, and drop the shades.

The instant they get below your feet, Jane startles, then yelps and dives after them.

“The fuck!?” Roxy yelps as you jerk upwards a couple of feet, getting out of Jane’s way.

There’s a moment when the two of you are just staring after Jane’s beige clad ass, then, almost as one, you’re both following her down, wind whipping past your ears as you let gravity do it’s work.

“What the _hell_ , Jane!?” Roxy bellows into the wind, and you would absolutely agree with her, but you’re a bit preoccupied with keeping your shades from flying off your damn face and into the drink.

Jane levels out about fifteen feet above the water, cracked sunglasses cradled gently in her hands as she stares intently at them.

“Look, Jane, if you wanted a souvenier-” You start, and Jane turns on you, her eyes crackling with fury.

“Dirk Strider, tell me you did not just try to throw Hal into the ocean.” She demands, and you blink at her.

“Um…” Roxy’s looking back and forth between the two of you, and you raise your hands, backing off a couple of feet.

“Look, Jane, I know you liked him, but he’s gone. Kaput. No more. That is an ex-autoresponder. His files are there, but I ran a diagnostic, and I dug around, and I did some stuff I _know_ he hates, and there was nothing. No response. He’s gone. Probably wiped by the game once the sprite he was part of was wiped.”

Jane scowls at you, but turns her attention back to the shades, and you float there awkwardly.

“I never noticed before,” she murmurs after a moment, her voice soft and oddly hazy, “he was always on your face, so I guess I couldn’t tell? But there’s Life. I can feel it. A little bitty speck of Life, deep down in there.”

Roxy jolts toward Jane, and your jaw drops.

“There’s _what?!_ ”

 


	38. Dirk, Find Your Autoresponder 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why Dirk was trying to make skin

“I’m going to wake him up.” Jane announces once the three of you get back to the house and are safely ensconced in the larger room you and the two Zahhaks had claimed as a workroom.

It was pretty evenly divided into thirds, with workbenches cluttered with spare parts and tools, and oddly enough, the three of you were just about as anal retentive as each other, so sharing the space hasn’t really caused much problems yet.

You’d love to pick either of their brains about how they construct their robots, ‘cause even the half finished ones look considerably more elegant than anything you’ve made before, but what you’ve seen of their coding makes you cringe.

“Don’t.” You tell her abruptly, an idea suddenly crystallizing in your mind like it’s been there the whole time.

Jane glares at you, her hands lighting up with the pale blue of Life.

“No seriously, Jane. Don’t wake him up yet.”

“Give me one good reason why not.” She demands, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

You hesitate, then, as her hands move closer to the pair of shades sitting on her lap, say in a rush, “I owe him.”

“Go on…” she prompts, and the blue glow fades a little as you take a deep breath.

You fucking hate all this feelings shit… you have _no clue_ how to handle it.

“I was basically a huge asshole. I… don’t wanna be that guy. I owe him, so I wanna build him a body. A real one,” you rush to say at Jane’s skeptical look, and Roxy looks intrigued, so you keep talking. “He’s real, right? So he deserves a body, and then if he doesn’t like it he can just live on the internet, or build himself a new one, or go live in a new pair of shades or whatever the fuck he wants, all right? But _I don’t want to be that guy anymore._ ”

Jane nods thoughtfully, and lowers her no longer glowing hands to her lap, cradling the sunglasses carefully, like they’re a baby bird or something really fucking delicate.

Roxy is smiling proudly at you from her perch on Horuss’ worktable, kicking her feet idly, and you flush with embarrassment.

You aren’t doing this for some noble reason, like she probably thinks. It’s not because you feel particularly bad about how you treated Hal.

It’s just.

You’ve seen the way Dave so carefully not-flinches around his Bro. How he shuts up whenever your older self enters a room, and the way he’s so quick to find a reason to leave whatever room it is.

And you can’t help drawing some uncomfortable parallels between what Dave’s told you about how his Bro treated him, and how you treated Hal a lot of the time.

It’s enough to make you wonder if _your_ Bro would be proud of you, or if he’d do that quiet disapproving thing that Dadbert does so well whenever John takes a prank too far.

Or even if he’d give you a taste of your own medicine.

So, if only so that you don’t become a carbon copy of your older self; so that Dave never has a reason to not-flinch at you, or leave whenever you show up, you’re going to do this. You’re going to build Hal a body, and it’s going to be the best damn body you’ve ever built.

 


	39. Feferi- Fight Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of The Spar

==> Feferi; fight Rose

The 2x3dent falls heavy in your hand, the weight a comfortable one, and you twirl it idly as you eye the human who’d fallen in across from you.

Meenah had encouraged everyone to come outside for a ‘spar’ but you’re fairly sure she’s more looking forward to a chance to test her Life powers on any of the inevitable injuries that will be the result of all thirty-whatever people going up against each other. You would be more concerned, but you have faith in yourself, and in her, and even in the human Life player.

Now you’re across from Rose, and she’s smirking at you as her wands crackle with black edged purple lightning. You’re trying not to let yourself think of the last time you went up against someone who used wands, but the fact that you know Eridan is out there somewhere, with a rifle, fully prepared to shoot anyone he can get a bead on, isn’t really helping.

“Nobody kill anybody, and we’ll be fine!” Karkat’s voice is raised in a shout, and you can see Meenah, smiling toothily and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“It’ll be fiiiiin, Shouty!” She grins, and shoves him towards one of the two lines. “Everybubble ready?” She calls, and her grin gets sharper, more dangerous, “GO!”

And the clearing devolves into chaos.

Majyyk splashes off your 2x3dent, and you spin it in a circle, redirecting it to the side and launching yourself at the source.

“Heeere fishy!” You crow, and your 2x3dent is sweeping across your front.

No killing her. You have to go for a knockout, which means the stabbing moves you’re most used to are right out.

Something niggles at the back of your mind as you dodge another blast of majyyk, then have to duck out of the way of a sweeping red battlefork.

Black painted lips are twisted up at you, even as lavender eyes are narrowed in concentration, and you watch as her wands flow with black tinted power.

Lightning blasts at you, then fire, then some weird mix between the two, and you’re kept at a distance, forced to duck and dodge between other battling pairs. A couple of times you’re forced to deal with someone trying to take a shot at you while you’re distracted, but you make sure they pay for it, leaving bleeding holes in legs, or lumps on skulls.

It isn’t until dodging a direct blast sends you backing almost directly into Kanaya’s chainsaw that you realize she’s -leading- you; using her foresight and majyyk to back you into corners where you don’t have any choice but to fight multiple opponents at once.

Your eyes narrow, and you can feel irritation surging in your veins like the tide.  
Fine. Fishy doesn’t glubbin’ want to play fair? Then playing fair is off the waves.

The next time lighting lashes out at you, you don’t dodge. Instead, you sweep your 2x3dent up, directly into it’s path, and _spin_ the golden weapon until the majyyk is thoroughly wrapped around the tines. It hurts, the majyykal electricity coursing through the metal and into your hands, but you force your muscles to relax. The pain is bearable. You can deal with it.

This time, when you launch yourself at the Seer of Light you’re grinning, showing every single one of the teeth that mark you as a seadweller.

Sure enough, this time is different. More majyyk is sent your way, but now you catch it, wrapping more and more of it around the tines on one end of your 2x3dent as you advance.  
Now she’s the prey and you’re the predator, herding her towards other fighters and letting her deal with trying to fight multiple opponents.

You would let fly with the stolen power, but you aren’t really sure how to do  anything with it, aside from keep it wrapped up, and honestly, even that’s starting to seem like a bad idea, with the faintly acrid scent of burning meat drifting up to you from where your hands are clutching your weapon.

She ducks under your next swirling strike, and faster than you’ve moved this whole fight, you catch her in the temple with the side of the other end. The end that, coincidentally, had the pent up majyyk wrapped around it.

There’s a blinding flash of darkness, something that sounds vaguely like your lusii’s voice, whispering to you from somewhere far away, and the next thing you know, you’re blinking up at the twilit sky.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The voice comes from beside you, and you aren’t sure you like the faint hint of reproach you hear. “I’ve fixed your hands, and that awful concussion you gave Rose. Are you feeling all right otherwise?”

 


	40. Eridan and Davesprite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The basically required wing grooming session

It’s the swearing that catches your attention; a low litany of curses, interspersed with short pauses.

For a moment, you hesitate. Whoever it is sounds kinda pissed, and you’re not the kind a troll to interrupt someone else’s rant, but this doesn’t sound like the sort of angry rambling you do when you’re alone.

Actually, listenin’ closer, it sounds like whoever it is has been trying to do somethin’ for a while, and is gettin’ to the ‘fuck it’ point pretty damn quick.

Another hissed curse makes up your mind for you, and, as stealthily as you can, you head toward the sound.

“-ucking useless goddamn wings, I swear to god I should just cut you fuckers off. I can’t sleep on my fucking back, can’t sleep on my fucking side, can’t reach enough to keep you assholes clean, _shit._ ”

Oh.

You know who it is now. That winged kid. D, you think he’s going by, now. ’s a stupid fuckin’ name, but whatever. Maybe for humans goin’ by a single letter is normal or somethin’. Sliding around another tree, you can finally see him, and what you can see makes you want to cringe.

His wings are spread wide and relaxed, droopin’ in a way that looks profoundly uncomfortable, and D is half twisted around, his right wing as far in front of his as he can get it.

You think you can tell what he’s complainin’ about though, 'cause now that you’re closer you can see that the feathers are duller than you remember 'em bein’ the first time you saw 'em. The random feathers sticking out at odd angles are kinda a giveaway, too, as is the way he’s tryin’ to reach around the front of his wing and run his fingers through the feathers.

It’s obvious he can’t reach, though, and you take half a step forward, then stop, wonderin’ what exactly you think it is you’re gonna do.

D jolts though, his wings snapping shut as he whips around.

You wince, then lift one hand lamely.

“Hey.”

“Yo.” D says, and if it weren’t for the faint tinge of color rising in his cheeks, you’d think he was completely unaffected by you walking in on his grooming session. “You need something?”

“Nah, I was just…” you gesture in the direction of the beach, “goin’ for a swim, y'know? Kar thinks we should keep up on patrols or whatever, and it’s as good an excuse as any to get in the water.”

D nods, waits a beat, shifting slightly, then, “Well, I’m gonna head back up before it gets too dark for my puny human eyes to-”

“Can I help?” you blurt out, and feel yourself flush violet as his mouth shuts with a click.

“Thanks,” D drawls, “but I think I can manage to get back to the house without an escort. It’s not even full dark yet. I’m surprised you’re out so early.”

“It’s easier to avoid Fef if I’m gone when she goes to get breakfast.” you mumble, “an’ that’s not what I meant. It’s fuckin’ unconscionable that your wings’re gettin’ so messed up, an’ you obviously can’t reach the backs of 'em, so… I just thought, I could help. If you wanted.”

D tenses. “Nah man, I’m cool. It’s fine. I’ll just… take a shower or something. Wash the dust off. No need to worry your purple striped head about it.”

And he absconds, leaving you alone in the deepening twilight.

Except then you find him again, the next night, near your route to a different part of the beach, (you’d overhead Fef and her dancestor talkin’ about maybe goin’ for a swim, an’ you didn’t want to push your luck, but the water in Earth’s ocean felt so much _nicer_ than the ocean on Alternia) and you offered to help him out.

This time you got one hell of a long, expressionless look before he took off back toward the hive.

The third time you find him, his wings sag, defeated lookin’, when he sees you.

“I’m not followin’ you.” you declare before he can say anythin’ and wonders will never cease, 'cause his mouth twitches upward slightly, and he nods.

“It’s cool.” he says, and makes to walk past you.

Your patience snaps, and you grab his upper arm, ignoring how he tenses as you drag him back into the room he’d been about to exit.

“No.” You say firmly, shoving him down onto the closest, backless stool, then turn around, kick the door closed, turn back and glare at him.

“Ampora, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” There’s a tense, nervous edge to his voice, and you glare harder.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doin’?” you ask, crossing your arms across your chest, “it’s been three fuckin’ days, and your wings are still a fuckin’ disgrace, so sit still, and shut up, and let me fuckin’ help.”

D hesitates, and you press the advantage you think you have. “Who’m I gonna tell, huh? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I ain’t exactly the most popular guy. And sooner or later _someone’s_ gonna notice, an’ then what?”

You wait, watching his face, and after a minute he sighs, slumps slightly, and his wings relax open, drooping in that weird way that makes your back ache just to _look_ at.

“We can’t all be hipster wannabes.” he mutters as you move behind him to get a better look at what you’ll have to work with.

“I have no idea what that even is.” You reply absently, and carefully place your hand at the top of his wing.

D is so tense he’s practically vibrating at your first touch, and you make sure to keep it gentle as you carefully stroke your hand down the surface of his left wing.

“So how do I do this?” You ask, and D snorts.

“You went all big bad, mother hen mode on me, and you don’t even know what you’re doing?” he asks, and you bristle.

“Hey, I was _thinkin’_ that you were capable of takin’ care a yourself. Now I know that’s not the case, I’ll make sure to look it up later. In the meantime, how about you tell me what to do?”

D sighs, and seems to wilt a little. “Just…” he gestures absently with one hand. “You gotta work your fingers through the feathers, carefully, 'cause the skin underneath the down in pretty sensitive, and run them down the feathers. Like you’re running your fingers through your hair, you know? Any feathers that are loose will come out that way, and you can just toss 'em on the floor. I’ll throw 'em away later.”

“Right,” you say, and follow his directions as best you can.

Your claws seem to help a little, letting you work your fingers easily through the layers of feathers, to the light, ticklish fluffs that you figure must be the 'down’ he’d mentioned, 'cause you can feel skin right next to it, warm and soft and oddly distracting.

“So… now I just…”

“Run your fingers through the feathers.” D says, his voice resigned as he demonstrates in the air in front of him.

“Okay.”

You move slow, hoping your claws won’t catch on anything, and dust puffs up from the feathers, making you pull your hands free so you don’t accidentally stab him when you sneeze abruptly.

“Dude.” D deadpans. “Gross.”

“That ain’t my fault!” You protest, “Haven’t you ever heard of a fuckin’ shower?”

D hunches in on himself slightly, and you frown.

“They don’t fit.” he says after a moment, “I have to keep 'em closed as tight as possible, so they don’t get very clean. Fucking useless pieces of shit.”

Your frown deepens, and you work your fingers into the next section. “What about the ocean?”

“Salt makes 'em itch like hell.” He replies, and there’s a soft, humming undercurrent to his voice that sounds vaguely familiar, and yeah, you could see that.

“I’ll bet,” you agree. “dried salt against the skin, with the crystals rubbin’ every which way anytime a feather shifts? Must’ve sucked.”

“Mmhmm.” D hums, “Had to… one wing in the shower at a time. ’M just lucky Jade’s got a removable showerhead. It helped a lot. Got water _everywhere_ though.”

You snicker, because yeah, you could see that, too. D, standing in the bathroom, pissed off with one wing over the tub, holdin’ a detachable showerhead and sprayin’ his wing down while the other one dripped everywhere.

“Yeah,” D scoffs gently, “Laugh at my pain why don’t you. See how sympathetic I am when you need to buy more dye for that pretentious fucking hair streak you’ve got going on.”

“It’s not dye.” You tell him absently, shaking your fingers to get rid of the down clinging to your fingers before you start the next section, “It’s a perfectly acceptable mutation. Megido’s got it, too.”

“What, really?” D sound surprised, and you nod.

“Yeah. Sometimes blood color can be expressed through hair or lips or nails. Megido’s eyelashes are naturally rust, the same as her lips. I have a violet streak. I bet Cronus’d have one too, but he probably dyes it.”

“Trolls are so _weird._ ”

You scoff gently at the wondering tone in his voice, and scrape your claws gently against the skin underneath all those feathers, intent on informing him of how _little_ room he has to talk, but the guy fuckin’ _melts_ and starts to chirr softly under his breath as he slumps forward bonelessly.

“Shit!”

You barely manage to catch him by the shoulders, and it takes some doing, but you manage to get around in front of him, then lower him to the floor. His wings are splayed wide, and his face is completely relaxed, bare of the sunglasses that’d fallen off when he’d gone limp.

“D?” You ask, and get a sleepily contented chirrup in reply as red/gold eyes blink lazily up at you. “Fuckin’ hell…” you sigh, and kneel down next to his head.

“D.” You’re tryin’ to make your voice as firm and commanding as possible, and _somethin’_ about it must get through to him, 'cause he opens his eyes wider and shifts slightly.

“Feels goooood…” he mumbles, and you sigh again, this time relieved; you hadn’t broken one of the humans. Yay for you.

Tugging on your shirt drags your attention back to the partial human you’re kneeling next to, who stares up at you pitifully and asks, “Keep goin’?”

You, bein’ the paragon of magnanimousness that you are, roll your eyes, pull up your sleeves, and nod. “Yeah, yeah. I ain’t done yet. I might as well finish the job.”

You definitely don’t notice the small, pleased smile on his face, or the way your throat hums with an answering chirr at the sleepy, pleased chirp he makes when your claws gently scrape against skin again.

 


	41. Roxy- Hate Sollux, Rose- Listen

“It’s like, all I want to do is grind his face into how much better than him I am!” Roxy wails into the pillow. “And it’s not even truuueeee!”

“Now now,” Rose says calmly, rubbing her ecto-sister’s back soothingly, “I’m sure that you’re better than him in many ways.”

“But that’s not even all,” Roxy continues, ignoring Rose’s attempt at comforting her. “He just pisses me off by existing. Like, he’ll be there, doing something, and all I’ll want to do is pick at him about how his shirt is obviously the same one he wore yesterday, or how stupid his lisp makes him sound, or how easy it was for me to get past his firewalls yesterday, and ask him if he’d found the virus I’d planted yet!”

Rose pauses for a moment, her mouth slightly open in an ‘oh’ of realization, her eyes slightly wide as she glances at you.

“And he probably has, I mean, he’s really, really good with computers, seriously, but does he do anything with it? Nooooo! He’s Sollux fucking Captor! He doesn’t have to do anything besides stew in his own greatness! He could be the next… I 'unno, Bill Gates or Steve Jobs or whatever, but he doesn’t fucking do anything! Just dicks around with piddly assed little toy codes that make my computer blow up, or sing 'This is the song that never ends’ in Alternian!”

Fuming, Roxy flips herself over, glaring at the ceiling with damp pink eyes.

“He could be so. fucking. amazing.” She says quietly, “But he doesn’t give a shit. He ran out of shits back on Alternia, or in the game, or after he half died, or whatever.”

“It sounds to me as though he requires some new motivation.” Rose observes quietly, and Roxy nods miserably.

“Yeah…” Slowly, a small, vicious smile starts to spread over her lips. “So maybe I’ll give him some.”

Quickly, she sits up, slides off the bed, and bounds over to the doorway, now radiating malevolent glee.

“Thanks for the talk, sis! I gotta find Jade before she heads over to the mainland. I’ll see you later, bye!”

The door slams shut behind her, and Rose turns to you, her lips tilted up in a sly, secretive smile.

“So.” She says, and you smile back at her, placing the (moderately mangled) knitting project you’d been working on to the side.

“So.” You reply, “Roxy has a hate-crush on Sollux?”

“I will admit,” Rose says, sliding easily onto your lap, “I did not see this coming. But it seems as though it will be entertaining.”

You humm agreement at her, pecking her once, lightly, on the lips. Still, something is confusing you.

“I had thought that humans did not have the same kind of… hate? When it comes to Kismesisitude.”

Now it’s Roses turn to hum, and she draws back a bit, obviously thinking.

“I believe that humans may have the emotional capability for Kismesisitude. However, most humans are raised to believe that hate is not something that has any place in a relationship. I am, in fact, rather sure that Roxy has no idea what impression she has been giving Sollux.”

You frown, and start to speak, but Roxy cuts you off.

“I have every intention of informing her, but later, when I can be sure that we are alone. It may be embarrassing to her, and I would not want her to feel as though she is being ganged up on.”

You relax, and nod, gesturing for her to continue.

“Kismesisitude, from what little I could glean from the movies and romance novels that were available on the meteor, seems to be one of the most healthy expressions of the more negative emotions you can have towards another person. Unfortunately, that is only true, or safe, when it is done right. Fortunately, it seems to me that a Kismesisitude would be almost the only kind of relationship a human could have with a troll in which the human would not automatically begin to blurr quadrant lines.”

You frown slightly at that, and Rose elaborates.

“As you know, successful human relationships tend to blend Moirailegiance and Matespritship, with the occasional possibility of one partner Asupiticising between the other partner and an outsider. However, humans are not encouraged to communicate with those they hate, and although there is such a thing as 'hate fucking’, it is not, I believe, a common occurence.”

“But Kissmesisitude is one of the conscupient quadrants.” You point out, now rather worried.

“And I shall be sure to make certain that Roxy knows that, along with anything else I can think of.”

Rose sighs, and you draw her closer again, cuddling her.

“I wish there was a handbook or something for this.” she murmurs quietly, and you smile against the side of her neck.

“It would make things quite a bit easier.” You agree, and the way she shivers at the feel of your lips moving against her skin makes your smile widen.

 


	42. Jade and Karkat, rejected scene

Jade is looking at you, a little crease between her eyebrows, and you scowl back.

“What?”

Her head tilts to one side, and she leans even closer to you. Her nose is almost touching yours, and you squash the urge to retreat. She’s not going to hurt you. The humans don’t do that. It’s fine.

“Your eyes…” She murmurs, and her own eyes widen. “Your eyes are starting to change color!” She chrips, and grins broadly as she takes a few steps back, out of your space.

Your blood pusher stutters, and you can practically feel the blood draining from your face.

“W-what?” the harsh croak is barely recognizable as your voice, and Jade stills.

“Your eyes.” She says, “You’ve got little flecks of red in them now. That’s good right? You said that that’s what happens when a troll starts to reach maturity?”

“It is.” You tell her numbly. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck this is so bad. This is the worst. Oh shit.”

“Karkat, what’s going on?” Now Jade is looking worried, but you can’t spare any thinksponge power from freaking out to reassure her. Actually, scratch that. There’s nothing to reassure her about.

“I’m fucked. I am so fucked that if I was a mother grub I wouldn’t need to be fed slurry for sweeps. Fuck. Harley, you cannot tell anyone. I’m serious about this. Don’t you fucking dare breathe a word of this to anyone, all right?”

Jade nods, then catches your arm as you turn to hurry away. “Karkat, what’s going on? Why is hitting maturity a bad thing?”

You laugh, a little hysterically, and run your claws through your hair.

“Why? Fuck, Harley. I’m about to moult. I’m going to moult early. Even rustbloods wouldn’t be hitting their adult moult for another six perigrees!”

She’s not getting it. Fuck, this is so bad. She’s not getting it, and you’re freaking out.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and take another, turning to lean against the wall, then sliding down it so that you can sit.

“All right, look. Trolls have growth stages, right? First comes the egg, then the egg hatches, and out comes a wriggler. The wriggler crawls around for a while, gets stronger, maybe eats some of the other eggs or wrigglers, or cocoons that it finds, maybe doesn’t, it’s all fucking instinct anyways. Then it finds itself a nice place where it feels safe, and spins itself a cocoon. After a while, maybe a perigree or so, the cocoon, if no other wriggler’s found it and eaten it, hatches, and a troll comes out.”

You spread your arms wide in a ‘ta-da’ gesture, a sardonic smile twisting your lips at the mildly sick look on Jade’s face.

“Trolls don’t grow much after they pupate.” you say. “The main growth period is during wrigglerhood, and a little bit during pupation. At least until they hit their adult moult.” You sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, “I don’t even know why the fuck I’m telling you this. Fuck. Okay. So, trolls age differently. The lower on the hemospectrum you are, the faster you age. Rust bloods, like Aradia and Tavros and their dancestors? They’ll hit their adult moult at about eight sweeps. Except their dancestors are something like nine, so I don’t fucking know, maybe it was different on Beforus or something. Feferi’ll probably hit her adult moult at something like ten. I’m not sure. I don’t fucking keep track of the highbloods. I only fucking know this shit because I wasn’t sure where I’d fall. Fucking figures that mine’d hit before even the lowest of the lowbloods. I’m only seven and a half.”

Jade’s frowning now. “So wait… doesn’t that mean that if you age faster than everyone else, you’ll…” she trails off uncertainly, and you bark a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll die sooner, too. Hell, I’ll probably die first, if I don’t my ass killed somehow.”

“Kankri too.” Jade reminds you, as though that’s supposed to make you feel better, and you scoff.

“Oh, fucking joy. I can just feel the relief flooding through my veins now; I’ll die before pretty much everyone else I know, but at least my fucking Dancestor will too! That’s real fucking reassuring Harley, it warms my fucking blood pusher.”

Jade scowls at you, but doesn’t push, and you push yourself up into a standing position.

“So, that’s it. You have now been schoolfed troll life cycles 101. Congratu-fucking-lations Harley, you are now marginally less retarded than you were before.”

And before she can say anything, you abscond.

All of that talking, and you managed to avoid telling her what’s really freaking you out.

You are the master avoider.

It is you.

You ignore the little voice in the back of your head that says you won’t be able to avoid it forever.

Hell, maybe you can let them all believe you died in moult. That’s a thing, right? It’s totally a thing.

You shudder, then turn and start heading for the nutrition block. You’re going to have to start stocking up on supplies.

 


	43. Karkat, Kankri; Be involuntarily intimidating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know Homeland Security wouldn't be dealing with them. I didn't feel like figuring out who would.

“I’m just saying that it would be easier for our government to-”

There’s a choking sound, and the government peon falls blissfully, wonderfully silent, his eyes huge as he stares over at your shoulder towards the door.

Curious, you glance over your shoulder, and instantly have to hide your pleased smile.

Eight feet of whipcord thin troll stands in the doorway, brilliant red eyes flicking from your amused face, to the rapidly paling face of Mr. Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is.

“Karkat. There you are. This is Mr…”

“Fosch.” The man says, and you have to stifle a snicker when his voice breaks slightly and he pauses to clear his throat. “Paul Fosch, from the United States Department of Homeland Security. I was, ah, under the impression that trolls were noctournal.”

“We are.” Karkat grumbles, and steps further into the room, running one clawed hand through his hair. “So why the fuck are you here?”

“I’m sure the gentleman was only trying to get a head start on getting things settled for us to have our embassy here.” a second voice says, and the light amusement in the voice that sounds so much like Karkat’s, (if Karkat hadn’t spent sweeps shouting at the top of his lungs) never fails to send a frission of dissonance down your spine.

Kankri prowls into the room after Karkat, and you can practically hear Mr. Fosch gulp at the appearance of another eight foot tall troll. You’re almost certain that the eerie similarity between the two will throw him off almost as much as how much bigger they are than him.

Kankri’s eyes are glinting with hidden amusement, but he manages to keep his face straight as he grabs one of the chairs, specially alchemized to accomadate the taller frames of some of the post-metamorphosis trolls, and pulls it over to sit next to you. Karkat doesn’t bother, instead leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, staring at the peon.

You are fully aware that this man came during the day so that he could try to get agreements from you, or John, or even one of the adults. You are, after all, still teenagers, and it seems to most adults that that means that you are naive, or stupid, or easily manipulated.

But you are Rose Lalonde, and you are not stupid. You are not naive. And you will not let yourself be manipulated again.

So as soon as you had sat down with this man, you had sent a discrete message to John, asking him to wake up the twinleaders and send them down.

Karkat would probably have quite a bit to say about that later, but for now the three of you had a common target, and you are going to enjoy this.

 


	44. More Jane and Cronus

==>Dirk: interrupt a fight

It’s the shouting that catches your attention at first; coming from one of the larger rooms on the main floor. The fact that it’s Jane’s voice, raised in a furious shriek has you in the room before you’ve even really thought about moving.

Sure enough, Jane’s in there, her face flushed with anger as she shouts at the one troll you were sure she would be avoiding the hell out of.

“At least I’m trying to solve my problems!” she howls at Cronus, and the sea troll’s hands clench.

“Don’t make me fucking laugh, queeny.” he snarls back, “Your problems? They’re nothing. You’ve got what? Your stupid flushcrush on that blond cat? Your fight with the oddball of Hope? Your problems are nothing. I gotta deal with Meenah and them all trying to figure out how to revive the dying species, and I don’t even fit. All of your problems would be solved if you’d just open your damn mouth and talk to them.”

This isn’t okay. He has no right to be talking to Jane like this, and you’re just about to intervene when a steel bar presses back against your chest.

You glance down, then sideways.

Apparently the steel bar is an arm.

An arm in a bright red sleeve.

Kankri is holding you back, keeping you from dragging Jane out of the room and away from the troll who’s making her look like she wants to cry.

“I wouldn’t, just yet.” He murmurs, glancing boredly over at the pair as Jane rallies and begins shouting back.

For a moment you consider ignoring him, but there aren’t any weapons out yet, so you relax, barely, and turn your attention back to your friend.

“Why not?” you want to know why you’re letting Jane continue what seems to be an almost textbook example of blackflirting.

“Because it’s helping them?” Kankri suggests, idly examining the claws on his other hand as he withdraws the arm that had been holding you in place. “Because she’s in no danger? Because I’ll intervene if it gets too heated, just as I have before? Take your pick, I do have more reasons.”

You raise one eyebrow over the top edge of your shades.

“I thought you were celibate. Sworn off quadrants.” You say slowly, and Kankri raises his own eyebrow at you.

“I am.”

Your eyebrow lifts higher.

“Really? So you’re not auspisticizing them?”

Kankri scoffs.

“Absolutely not. We aren’t quadranted. I simply want what’s best for Cronus, as a friend, and if I happen to stumble across them having a… heated discussion, well, it is my duty as a friend to ensure that the aforementioned discussion doesn’t get too heated.”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes on the pair and his expression troubled.

“At any rate, I am… not certain that what they feel is black. Close your eyes. Listen.”

You frown, but close your eyes and turn your attention back to Jane’s ‘discussion’.

Somehow, it seems that the topic has turned towards Cronus’ chronic inability to get laid, but instead of the mocking undertones you’d expect from a budding kismesisitude, there’s a faint current of exasperated concern threaded through her voice.

And the words themselves almost floor you.

You turn towards Kankri, your face as blank as you can make it, but the troll is smirking faintly, and you have a feeling he can tell that your eyes are wide behind your point shades of awesome.

“They’re having a feelings jam.” You say flatly, and you can’t even believe what just came out of your mouth.

“Or something of the sort.” Kankri agrees, inclining his head slightly, “Though I do not believe either of them realize it. This is merely the most recent of such discussions I’ve stumbled upon. Interestingly enough, the two of them do tend to implement the advice given, even if only to try to prove the other wrong. The fact remains, however, that they are helping each other. It would be remiss of me to allow this… arrangement to come to a halt. Either due to severe injury, or interference.”

“I see.” You say, and you sort of do. This is the kind of quadrant blurring that would have given the Condesce an aneurysm back on your world. You kind of approve, even just based on that.

“That was the politest 'back the fuck off’ I’ve ever heard.” You inform Kankri, and his smirk widens into a true, albeit small, smile.

“All right then. I’m gone.” You say, and turn around to leave the room before Jane can catch sight of you.

“I would be prepared for a moderately uncomfortable conversation in the near future.” Kankri’s voice makes you pause for a split second, and then the door is closing quietly behind you, muffling the shouting and leaving you with a slightly shaken worldview.

Damn. Jane in a pale-pitch relationship with Cronus Ampora. Who the hell would have thought?

 


	45. Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't avoid everyone forever

Dave is avoiding you.

To be honest, you’re avoiding him too.

Both the Daves.

And your younger alternate.

Actually, you’re avoiding all the kids.

And the other three adults. You don’t need the judgmental shit you’re sure to get from them.

After all, their kids turned out fine.

You fucked yours up well and proper, and even if you’re trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t all you, there’s still a large part of your mind that’s screaming that it was you. Your body. Your mouth spewing bullshit, and your hands and sword that beat the almost literal shit out of him.

You can’t trust yourself around him.

You won’t trust yourself around any of them.

You aren’t safe to be around.

You would leave, but you’re stuck on this island, the same as everyone else, and getting off it would involve talking to one of Dave’s friends, so instead you’ve holed yourself up in one of the bedrooms; only leaving in the middle of the day, since everyone seems to have flipped into a more nocturnal sleep cycle.

You haven’t yet met up with anyone in the middle of the day, and you’ve taken to flashstepping around the house on the off chance that anyone else is awake.

Just based off the public memos that you’ve been lurking on (and shit, they’re more like chatrooms, with people coming and going all the damn time), your kid seems fine. His winged doppelganger, too. And the mini-you. They’re all fine. They don’t need you.

The faster you get the hell away from them, the better. Less chance of you slipping back into years worth of habits that’re basically ingrained in you from that possession or whatever the fuck it was.

But you can’t really bring yourself to approach Harley, or one of the other adults to get them to take you with them on the daily shopping trip and drop you off on the mainland.

It’s selfish as fuck, but you want to stick around. You want to get to know this newer, more confident, happier Dave so bad that it physically hurts. You want to get to know the winged Dave. You’re even interested in what the fuck is up with the mini-you.

You bet it’s one hell of a story.

The computer you’d scrounged up chimes at you from the box it rested on, and you glance over, half expecting to see another series of mid-sleep-cycle ‘fuck these bullshit nightmares’ messages on one of the memo boards.

Instead, lavender text is slowly filling a private chat box.

–tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering testifiedDrift [TD] at 10:47  
TT: Mr Strider.  
TT: Or do you prefer Bro?  
TT: Or possibly you too share a name with your dimensional duplicate, and I should call you Dirk?  
TT: Hmm. This is quite the dilemma. Perhaps I should take a leaf out of my dear ectosibling’s metaphorical book and create some unholy amalgamation of the three names.  
TT: Mr Stribrork?  
TT: No. That is ridiculous.  
TT: Birk?  
TT: Mr Dirstbro?  
TT: Hmm… that has some promise.  
TD: Bro is fine.  
TT: Ah. There you are. I had hoped that you were awake, and not in the mood to simply avoid all further contact.  
TT: You’ve been doing quite a good job of that.  
TD: What’s the likelihood of you just dropping it and leaving me alone if I hadn’t responded?  
TT: Somewhere around nil.  
TD: There you go, then.  
TD: What do you want?  
TT: Straight to the point then. It seems you and your dimensional duplicate do share some traits in common.  
TT: What are your intentions towards the Daves?

You sit back, staring at the lavender text on your screen.

What are your _intentions_? Your _intentions_ are to stay as far the fuck away from them as you can so that you don’t fuck them up any more than you already fucking have. Your _intentions_ are to keep an eye on them from the shadows and make sure that they can at least have some fucking semblance of a normal teenagerhood. Your _intentions_ are… a fucking messed up mish mash of contradictions and desires.

More pale purple words are scrolling up your screen.

TT: You are aware there are two of them, correct?  
TT: I am unsure as to how much of what transpired during the game you are aware of.  
TT: Just as I am not sure of the extent of your current knowledge in general.  
TD: Yeah, I know there’s two of 'em.  
TD: Winged Dave and human Dave.  
TD: And I don’t think my 'intentions’ are any of your business.

You will not bitch out a sixteen year old for trying to protect her friend. You will not bitch out a sixteen year old for trying to protect her friend.You will no-

Somehow the lavender text that appears on your screen next seems impossibly menacing.  
  
TT: Very well then. I will simply leave you with this warning.  
TT: If you ever hurt Dave again, and by 'Dave’, I mean either of them, then I will feed you to the horrorterrors myself, in as small of bits as I can possibly manage.  
TT: And those bits will be removed from your still living body, held paralyzed by all the black majykk at my disposal, while I force you behold the full, unfettered visages of those selfsame horrorterrors.  
TT: For all that Dave will know, you will have simply disappeared to live in anonymity in this new world.  
TT: So you have a choice. Continue your current course of action and hurt the Daves with your persistent refusal to interact with them.  
TT: Or man the fuck up and talk to them.  
TT: They think they’ve disappointed you.  
–TT has ceased pestering TD–

Stunned, you sit back, staring at your screen.

Jesus shitfucking christ.

That girl is _terrifying_.

You can see why Dave likes her.

 


	46. Bro-Thoughts on Metamorphosis

Ever since everyone finally finished their weird molting/metamorphising/pupating thing, you’ve had one hell of a hard time adjusting. Sure, for the most part they looked pretty much like they had before.

Except… well. Take Tavros.

Before, he’d been what? Something like five foot four? Five five? Something like that. And his horns had been ludicrous, extending far past his shoulders. He hadn’t necessarily been the skinniest dude; apparently rolling yourself around in a ‘four-wheel device’ for sweeps will build some seriously good muscle, but he hadn’t been built, either.

Now, though… now he’s damn near a foot taller, and grown right into those ridiculous horns. Not to mention the fact that after he’d eaten enough to get rid of that post-cocoon skeletal thinness? Dude was built like a fucking truck. Broad shoulders, muscles everyfuckingwhere, and still with that shy, goofy ass smile that could reduce even a hellaciously cool guy of your stature to a melted puddle of 'daww’ in roughly three seconds flat.

And that’s not even mentioning the wings.

Yeah. Wings. His dancestor had practically thrown a goddamn party when Tav had shown up with those big bronze fairy looking things, and you had to admit that they did make it really obvious that the two were somehow related. (Well, if you hadn’t already noticed the horns.)

Then there’s Vriska, or her dancestor, Aranea. Those two had molted/pupated/metamorphosed around the same time (Really, everyone of the same blood color had, but with those two, it was somehow freakier). People have started calling them the spider twins, and, yeah, okay, that’s sort of accurate? They do look a lot alike. All the dancestor pairs do. But honestly? They remind you way more of those rattlers that sometimes ended up around your old apartment building. Perfectly content to just curl up somewhere and lounge around in the sun, but if you did anything they didn’t like? Watch the fuck out, 'cause you’re about to be going to the hospital for a fucking shot of antivenen.

They’re tall as hell, too, a lot of the trolls are, and little Lalonde says that her girlfriend says that they’re about average for their blood color, but still, you’re used to 'average’ being five foot whatever for a woman. Not near on to seven and a half fucking feet tall, but something about them tells you that they could be pixie sized, and still be dangerous enough to make gutting yourself to save them the trouble worth it.

More often than not, the Spider Twins really do remind you of those snakes, coiled up all happy in the sun, and all too willing to fuck up the next person to piss them off.

You try not to feel vindicated by the fact that several of the other trolls find them intimidating too. You also try to never, ever let Dave, or any of the other kids or trolls figure it out.

Judging by the just-shy-of-condescending way Vriska talks to you sometimes, and the way Aranea makes sure never to move too quickly around you, you’re pretty sure they already know.

 


	47. Kankri- Dream 1

 

==> Kankri: Dream

You have an idea of what will be waiting for you when you fall asleep. You’ve watched your fellow Beforan trolls succumb; one by one waking up shaking, or screaming, or in tears. Mituna can’t even be in the same room as Meenah without either trying to kill her or breaking down in terrified tears.

For all that he seems to have recovered from burning out his psionics, he seems even more broken now.

Kurloz is the only troll who doesn’t seem to be affected by receiving the memories of his Alternian self, and even seems pleased by the way Cronus will leave any room he enters.

The only real change from Kurloz had been his removing of the stitches holding his mouth shut. Apparently, at some point his tongue had grown back, and he was taking advantage of that to have quiet conversations with his dancestor, Gamzee.

Still, you think that it’s entirely likely that you won’t even receive the memories. After all, you did meet and speak with your alternate self in the dream bubbles. You don’t need the memories. You heard it all straight from the hoofbeast’s mouth.

So there’s no reason to continue stalling. You’re going to finish your morning ablutions, crawl into your pile, (and gog do you miss sopor,) and sleep without any dreams at all.

And even if you do, you’re sure they won’t change how you act.

_You’re three the first time you see a highblood beating a lowblood in the street. No one intervenes, and your mother sweeps you up into her arms and hurries away when it looks like you’re about to interfere._

_It was the first time she’d taken you into a town with her, rather than leaving you tucked somewhere safe while she traded what little the two of you had for necessities._

_You’re sobbing by the time you get back to your camp site for the day, and she brushes your tears away carefully as she asks what’s wrong._

_You try as hard as you can, to explain to her how you know that was wrong. How you’d dreamed and dreamed and Seen that that was not the way things were supposed to work between trolls._

_She’d smiled at you, and patted you between your tiny horns, and said that unfortunately most other trolls didn’t see it that way._

_She couldn’t tell you why, when you asked._

_Sweeps passed, and every instance of casual cruelty; of trolls using and abusing other trolls just because they could made you more and more sick inside._

_You knew they could be better. You’d Seen it. You had to do something. The system had to change. It couldn’t keep on like it was, or Alternia would tear itself apart._

_You didn’t have wealth, or status. Any attempt to change the system from the inside would get you culled faster than you could blink._

_All you could do is talk; try to convince people that they had worth because they were alive. That being born with blood of a certain colour meant nothing about their capabilities or responsibilities._

_So you talked to everyone, and lived your words, and hoped that that would be enough._

_You spoke to anyone who would listen, highblood or lowblood alike. Slave or free, it didn’t matter. All that mattered to you was that trolls start to think about the things they did, and said, and saw every day._

_Your message spread, and tales of your visions, and you soon had a price on your head. Not a very high bounty, but the longer you and the Dolorosa evaded capture, the higher it climbed._

_Sometimes other trolls would travel with you, but it wasn’t until Meulin, and, eventually, Mituna, that anyone stayed. They were the only two willing to risk the life you and your mother led._

_And they paid dearly for it._

_You remember every excruciating minute of your execution. The way the manacles bit into you, melting the skin at your wrists. The hissing, sizzling, scorching sound. The smell of burning meat, and the way your mutant, candy red blood trickled from the many cuts littering your body._

_The worst pain, though, was the look on Meulin’s face. The way tears poured down your mother’s face. The guttural, snarling sobs from Mituna._

_The pain broke a dam inside you that you hadn’t even known existed, and words flowed, washing over the trolls gathered to see the subversive element get what was coming to him._

_You hated them all, and you loved them. You pitied them all so much that it hurt even more than the shackles holding you in place, and it wasn’t until the arrow sank into your side that you realized you had been straining against them, trying to reach out._

_You pitied them, and they killed you. You hated them, and you forgave them. You loved them, and you would have done anything to keep them from making this mistake. Not for your sake, but for theirs._

_You were twelve sweeps old, and all you could do was die and hope that eventually they would understand._

You wake up, and you know without checking that tears are streaming down your face.

You aren’t sure if they ever really stopped.

But… you’re alive? How are you alive? You felt yours- Oh no. Nonono.

Where’s Meulin? Where’s Mituna? Where is your mother?

You fling yourself out of the pile you were laying in, (and why were you sleeping on a pile of comfort blocks and books?) and out the door of the unfamiliar familiar room you found yourself in.

You want to shout for your _(matespritbestfriendkinfamily)_ , but you don’t know where you are, and nothing looks like it should, so you’re left racing through the unfamiliar corridors, trying to find any sign of them.

_(theywouldnotcouldnotleaveyoualonecan'tbealoneneveralone.)_

Instinct, or intuition, or something in between that comes from the same place you get your visions, nudges you, and you follow; down a spiral staircase, through several doors, and into a room that smells like Meulin and Mituna and Mother.

They’re all there. Right in front of you, sleeping close enough to touch on a pile made of bolts of fabric and books and electronics.

For a moment, all you want to do is fling yourself onto them; burrow yourself into their warmth and their sheer presence, but the place your visions come from nudges you again, and instead you simply sink onto the pile, right in between Meulin and your mother, one hand outstretched to tangle in the sleeve of the overlarge shirt Mituna was wearing.

Explanations for how you’re alive, or why they look so young can wait until they wake up.

Right now, all you want to do is bask in their presence.

Your yawn surprises you, and you let out a breathy chuckle. You’re still tired. Perhaps you’ll get a little more sleep, too. They won’t leave you.

 

 


	48. Kankri- Dream 2

When you next wake up, your head is a tangled, jumbled mess of memories; of events that you’ve never lived. Part of you wants to bury them; lock them away and never think about them again, but another part of you, a larger part, knows the futility of that. You are Blood, and Blood remembers.

Luckily, when you open your eyes and look around, you’re alone. Porrim, Meulin, and Mituna must have left at some point before you woke, and part of you is incredibly, pathetically grateful for that. You _need_ to get your head sorted out, and you need to do it quickly, before everything becomes too much for you to handle. The other part of you, the part that holds your alternate memories, is disappointed. He’d been so sure that they wouldn’t leave. That they’d stay with him, and guard him while he slept.

But they aren’t _his_ , you remind yourself viciously, striding over to the door and yanking it open, and you’re just the _Insufferable._ Not the Signless.

You make it two steps out of the room before stopping dead in your tracks.

Mituna is there, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, twiddling his helmet in his hands.

“Hey Kankri.” he says, more quietly than you’ve heard him speak in sweeps, “Thleep well?”

“Yes.” you reply shortly, and Mituna nods.

“We thought you’d be… leth upthet if you didn’t have uth all over you when you woke up. Dolo-” he pauses for a split second, winces, and tries again, “ _Porrim_ and Meulin went to find thomething to eat. You want anything?”

You’re gaping at him. This… this is unreal. A dream. It has to be. Mituna _hates_ you. Platonically, even. And yet, here he is, actually being something that looks very much like _nice._ To _you._

“I want,” you say stiffly, “to go back to my respite block, and not come out or be bothered until I can make sense of _everything._ ”

Mituna cracks a crooked half smile, “That'th a lot to make thenthe of.” he replies, his tone gently mocking, and that throws you off even further.

“I think I can handle it.” you snap, and, turning on your heel, you stalk down the hall, eager to get as far away from this ( _newfamiliardifferentcomfortable_ _ **wrongright**_ ) friendlier version of Mituna as possible.

You’re shaking by the time you get back to your respite block, your shoulders knotted tight and your head pounding from the tension, and you are so incredibly _angry._

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to _need_ the memories. You’d spoken to him! That was supposed to be it!

But thinking about the conversations you’d had with Signless sends a flash of white-hot shame through you, and you sink down onto your pile, cuddling one of the comfort squares.

You hadn’t had any _idea_ what Alternia was like, and hearing about it, with no real frame of reference, hadn’t really gotten the situation across. Now though, now you _knew_ , intimately, the kinds of things your alternate self had seen and done. And now you could look at yourself, and your ‘activism’ and see it for what it really was.

You curled tighter around the comfort square, hiding your face in the rough fabric.

“ _Hey.”_ the voice is so quiet that you can’t be sure you heard it in the first place.

“ _Hey wiggler.”_

You sniffle, burying your face deeper into the comfort square. You are _not_ going to start hallucinating now. Absolutely not.

“ _Kankri Vantas, I swear to the mother grub’s tiny, vestigal wings, if you don’t pay attention I’m going to-”_ the voice cuts off as you look up, ready to give whomever has invaded the sanctity of your respite block a lecture they’ll never forget.

Instead, you’re left gaping at the pale, barely there ghost of… you.

Well, not really you. He’s older, and way, _way_ taller, with the dark skin that marks an adult. But his horns are the same shape as yours, and his eyes fairly _glow_ with the bright crimson that runs in your veins.

“ _Signless_!?” You demand, scrubbing your face roughly to eliminate any trace of the tears you _had not_ been crying a few moments ago.

“ _Hi.”_ He waves awkwardly, “ _Sorry about, you know…”_ he gestures awkwardly with one hand, and you just barely catch a glimpse of ruined flesh around his wrist before he tucks the hand back into the daycloak he’s wearing.

“It’s fine.” You say automatically, then instantly take it back, “No, it’s not. This is not fine in the slightest. Do you _realize_ how triggering this is? Do you have _any idea at all_ how not all right this is? _Why are you here!?_ ”

The last question is hissed between your bared teeth, and the fond smile that softens the crimson glare of his eyes just makes you even more angry.

“ _Trust me, this wasn’t my choice. I would love to just let you go on living your life. But something decided that you get my memories, so here I am.”_ Signless glances around the room, taking in your pile, and the stack of book you’d collected out of Harley’s ancestor’s things, and the husktop whirring away in the corner.

“Well _go away._ ” you growl, clenching your fists in the comfort square, “Don’t you think you’ve already done quite enough?”

Signless shrugs. “ _I would if I could, but I don’t think I’m even really here.”_

“So what,” you scoff, “you are a product of my own mind, unable to handle the influx of a mere extra twelve sweeps of memories? After spending millinia inside the dream bubbles? I highly doubt _that._ ”

“ _I doubt it too.”_ Signless agrees with a crooked smile, “ _No. I’m just… an echo. Those memories you’ve got of mine? I’m the representation of them. I doubt I’ll be around for too long once you start integrating them. Though… I might disappear if you repress 'em, too. I’m not sure.”_

You frown, staring at the ghost of your alternate self. “That makes no sense at all. None of the others have mentioned manifestations.”

“ _No,”_ Signless nods, then shrugs, “ _but we’re Blood. Things are different for us. I’m sure your little teal friend, what’s her name, Latula?”_

You nod, shoving the urge to tell him that she’s not your friend into the back of your mind.

“ _I’m sure Latula had something similar happen. She’s Mind, after all, and from what I’ve seen of your memories, she’s stubborn as hell. She’d probably force a confrontation before she started allowing her alt-self to integrate.”_

“You’ve seen my memories?!” You demand, your voice raised into a half shriek, and Signless winces.

“ _I’m literally in your head. My memories are your memories, and once you start integrating them, I will literally become you. It’s a little hard_ not _to have seen them.”_

You curl in on yourself, flushed with shame, and for a moment your respite block is silent.

“ _I’m sorry.”_ Signless finally offers. “ _This isn’t the way I would have done things, if I’d had a choice.”_

“I know.” you say, your voice muffled by the comfort square you’d hidding your face in.

And it’s true. You do know. Every single memory you’d seen had shown you that above all else, Signless held the ability to _choose,_ sacred. He would talk, and try to convince, and offer other points of view, but when it came down to it, he would never _force_ someone to do something.

Looking at it from the outside, you could see why he was so well loved.

“So what do we do?” You ask, looking up at your alternate self.

Signless’ face gets serious, and he settles himself on the ground, sitting crosslegged in front of you, a few feet away.

“ _There’s a couple of ways this works out.”_ he says seriously, “ _The first is that our memories stay jumbled together. You won’t be able to tell if you’re remembering something from when_ you _were six, or when_ I _was six, unless someone tells you otherwise. Both sets of memories will be intact, and it’ll be like you lived on Beforus and Alternia at the same time. It’ll be confusing, and hard, and frustrating, but you might be able to better understand where my descendant and his group are coming from.”_

You frown at that. That sounds _horrible._ Not being able to tell? Not being able to keep things straight? And he’s older than you are, so how would that even work? Would your new memories get jumbled up even as you’re making them?

“What other options are there?” You ask, and Signless nods.

“ _You could completely reject the memories. Lock them in a box, shove them into the back of your mind and pretend they don’t exist. You’ll have nightmares, and they’ll show up in dreams, and maybe sometimes someone will say something, or you’ll see something that’ll remind you, and a memory will escape and you’ll be trapped in it until it plays out and you can shove it back in the box. On the plus side, it means you won’t have to change who you are. You can still be the Kankri Vantas you’ve always been. For a while.”_

He’s watching you, his face even as he lays out the pros and cons of you pretending he’d never existed, and for a brief, split second, you hate him.

“ _A third option,”_ he continues easily after a brief pause, “ _is the opposite of the second. You lock_ your _memories away, and become me. I will dream your life, and your memories, and occasionally there would be sights, or sounds, or scents that would trigger flashbacks into your life.”_

You can feel the blood draining out of your face as he tells you the third option, and you’re shaking your head before he can even stop speaking. “No. Not that. Please, not that.”

Signless inclines his head gravely, his eyes serious. “ _I would not. Not unless that was your choice. I am simply telling you what you_ can _choose. There is one more option.”_ he says, and hesitates. “ _This one is more… This option will have the largest change, to both of us, but might just be the most beneficial. It is similar to what happens to the others, who do not have the choice, but different in that we could choose how to go about it. It’s a sort of blending. Not like with the first option, where you would very likely go mad before a sweep is out, but similar.”_

_We would, the two of us together, go through each and every single memory we have, and sort them. Some memories would fade, until it was as though we had read them in a book, or watched them in a movie. Other memories would remain clear, as though we had truly lived them. We would pick through our personalities, choosing what remains, and what fades. We would go through our abilities, and do the same. At the end, there would be Kankri, because we_ are _both Kankri, but it would be a different Kankri than either of us alone.“_

You frown. "Is that why Mituna is so much more aggressive?” you ask, “I had thought it was simply a side affect from his thinksponge damage being healed.”

“ _Alternia was a much more violent place than Beforus. Mituna was always particularly zealous in making sure that he was a good enough fighter to keep us safe. In fact, he trained many of the psionics during our rebellion.”_

Signless’ fond smile makes your eyes narrow, but you try to ignore it, thinking hard about the options he’s given you.

It’s obvious which choice he _wants_ you to make, and you’re halfway tempted to choose differently, just to spite the older troll, but you stifle the urge and try to look at it all objectively.

You don’t particularly want to go insane. All that would do is invite culling, of either variety, from the other trolls. You still aren’t sure how the humans would react, and you’re not in any mood to find out. However, you don’t want to not be you, either. You worked so _hard_ to be yourself. To keep yourself from being culled for being a mutant, when you _know_ that you’re perfectly capable to handling yourself.

To go insane, just because you refuse to even look at or think about the actions of another you? That would be… no. You can’t choose that.

You refuse to even consider allowing Signless to supplant you, too. This is _your_ body. It is _your_ mind, and you’ll be damned if someone is going to take that from you.

You _could_ just lock it all away. The nightmares couldn’t be _that_ bad… but the thought makes you hesitate, and you look at Signless again.

Even though he’s done his best to shroud his body in the daycloak, and even though his face is untouched, you can still catch glimpses of bright crimson. Of dark skin marred by darker bruises. And you can’t get the brief glimpse of charred flesh and bone out of your mind.

The dreams you’d had last night had been, for the most part, horrible. You’d never wanted to know what it was like to feel such unending agony, and you never wanted to feel it again.

If locking him away made nightmares more likely, then…

“How do we start?” you ask, looking Signless dead in the eyes, “I want to do the fourth thing. Blending with you so that we’re better. So that _I’m_ better.”

Signless’ smile is bittersweet, and his eyes are knowing as he extends his hand to you.

You can’t look at it, your gorge rising.

“ _Let me show you.”_ he says, and his fingers around your wrists are a barely there phantom sensation as he drags you down into darkness.

 


	49. Kankri- Dream 3

It occurs to you, several hours later in the mental projection that you were sharing with Signless, that this was going to take significantly longer than you’d originally thought.

“Of course it is,” Signless says, surprised, when you confront him about it, “we are going to be living our lives again, after all. And even if it is in your mind, and can be done faster, it’s still going to take time. What, did you think we’d just whip through it, toss things every which way and be done with it?”

You scowl at him, and look away. You _had_ thought it would be something like that, but instead the two of you are working slowly and methodically through every single memory you have. From the first, hazy scent memories of grubhood, to the painful brightness of your first after-pupation sight, Signless is leaving no memory alone, and the two of you have to discuss every single one, deciding what will be kept, and what will fade.

You’d thought it would be easy. Of course Signless’ memories should fade. They were horrible memories, of a horrible place. Why would anyone want to remember those?

Except… you kept stumbling across memories that show that that isn’t the case.

Memories of campfires and old tales, told in the soothing voice of the one member of the species he could always trust. Of songs sung in a language you didn’t know, but that resonated with you anyway. Of warm kisses from Meulin, and affectionate hugs from Mituna.

Of kindnesses, large and small from trolls he’d never met, but who had heard of him. Of finding the sickles, left out in a field with a small bag of supplies nearby and a note that simply read ‘for those in need of a Sign.’

The Alternia that Signless knows and loves wasn’t a horrible place all the time, and as you live through the memories with him, you come to find it harder and harder to set those memories aside.

You’ve been keeping an eye on Signless, too. Watching him as he lives through your memories, and finds things not as idyllic as he’d thought.

Granted, Beforus is far and away better than Alternia in many ways, but the casual, cutting cruelty hiding beneath the friendly, kind exteriors of your fellow Beforans, (and your own, you can at least admit that much) seems to be exactly the reverse of many of the members of Alternia’s population.

In many ways, you’re being forced to admit, neither world is better than the other; just different in how the cruelty is displayed.

But the two of you work through it, living the memories, and placing those that can afford to be forgotten aside.

You take a break when you get to the end of his life, opening your eyes to the pitch darkness of your respite block and standing with a groan before stretching as best you can. It takes you a moment to fumble your way over to the door, and when you pull it open you’re left hissing as the hallway light assaults your eyes.

The two of you still have to live through your time in the dream bubbles, and while you’re curious as to how the memory remnant of Signless with take your conversation with the Signless you’d found in the dream bubbles, you also sort of don’t want to know. You’d like to be able to stuff all of the memories of the dream bubbles into the 'to be forgotten’ pile, but you know he won’t let you. Know that it’s for the best that you go about this as carefully as you can.

It’s tiring though, and you’re hungry, so you venture down to the food preparation block.

When you get there, the light inside is on, and you sigh. You really hadn’t wanted to deal with anyone else just yet. Not until you’d finished getting the inside of your head sorted out, but your stomach is making its demands in increasingly strident tones, so you brace yourself, push open the door, and step inside.

The food prep block is warm, and full of the smell of good (familiar?) food, and you barely register the hum of conversation cutting off as you head directly to the thermal hull and pull the door open.

It’s full of food, as usual; a mix of plant and animal matter, none of which is familiar to you. Some of it is obviously a sort of derivative of the normal Beforan cuisine, but it’s just off enough for you to taste the difference, and it’s been driving you to distraction.

“ _They’re talking to you.”_ Signless’ soft voice breaks you out of your thermal hull contemplation, and you glare at him as you turn around to face the table.

You hadn’t realized he’d still be able to manifest once you’d started integrating his memories, which might _possibly_ account for the ice in your voice as you look at the occupants of the table.

“What?” you ask, and Porrim raises her double pierced eyebrow at you as Karkat shoves a plate in your direction.

“Jade went to the mainland earlier tonight. Apparently some of what we were saying finally sank though the layer of fur surrounding her thinksponge, because she brought us back some _real_ food.”

You let the thermal hull’s door shut, staring with wide eyes at the contents of the plate.

“Everyone else has already had their share.” Porrim informs you, “I was just debating whether to take yours up to you or not, since Mituna said that you wanted to be alone.”

“I did. Do. Um…” you tear your attention away from the plateful of pale brown, gorgeous looking grubs and look between Porrim and Karkat. “ _Thank you._ ”

You make the words as heartfelt as you can, ignoring Karkat’s uncomfortable scoff as you grab a fork from the clean dish receptacle at the side of the sink, throw yourself into a chair, and start eating.

The first bite tastes like what you imagine the 'heaven’ some of the human ghosts talked about would be like. The second bite is better, and you can’t contain your hum of contentment as the fatty juices explode into your mouth.

“These have to be the best things I’ve ever eaten.” You mumble around a mouthful, and shoot Signless, then Porrim, a glare as they start to snicker.

Karkat just rolls his eyes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot. You’ll fucking choke, and then we’ll have to get Feferi or Meenah down here to resuscitate your dumb ass.”

You wave him off with your fork, too full of goodwill brought on by decent food to take him to task for his insensitive language, and he rolls his eyes again before stalking out of the block.

You manage another couple of bites before Porrim leans forward, frowning slightly as her eyes search your face.

“Are you all right, Kankri?”

“I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine, and as soon as I’m done with this marvelous example of real food, (which, remind me to commend Harley on her interspecies sensitivity) I’m going to go back to my respite block and continue to be fine there.”

Her eyes narrow, and Signless chuckles at you from behind her, his arms crossed as he regards her fondly.

“Are you sure?” Porrim presses, and you glare at her.

“Positive.” You say crisply, and shove another bite of grubs into your mouth.

“Kankri.” Porrim starts, her tone long suffering, “I know you Dreamed last night, and I-”

You cut her off, “Yes. I dreamed last night. Yes, I remember being Signless. No, I do not want to talk about it, and the fact that you are continuing to question me on this matter is highly disrespectful, not to mention potentially triggering, _as you well know._ So yes, I am fine. And now, I am going to take my food to my respite block, finish it there, and _continue to be fine._ ”

You shove the chair back, grab the plate from the table, snatch the fork from midair as it somersaults off the plate with the force of your grab, and stalk toward the door.

For a moment, you hesitate, torn between your righteous indignation and good manners.

Manners wins out, and you mutter a quick thanks for saving the grubs for you, then make your escape back to your respite block.

“ _That was rude.”_ Signless says matter-of-factly, his voice completely devoid of reproach.

“I don’t need her attempts to _cull_ me.” You hiss, bristling at the manifestation of your alternate self, who arches an eyebrow at you.

“ _That didn’t look like culling.”_ he says, “ _Alternian or Beforean. It looked like what Dolorosa did for me. Caring. Making sure someone she cared about was all right. Seeing if there was anything she could do to fix whatever’s wrong.”_

He paused for a moment, then shrugged, “ _Granted, it didn’t always work out well, but she did_ try _.”_

You choose to ignore that, instead kicking your door shut behind you and settling back on your pile to shovel the bits of roasted goodness into your mouth.

“How are you even still able to manifest?” You ask, and ignore his disapproving look at your full mouth, too. “I thought once we started to integrate, I would no longer be able to see you.”

Signless shrugs. “ _We haven’t finished. Right now all we’ve done is sort my life, and part of yours. Once we’ve finished the whole process you’ll probably fall asleep for a bit while everything reconfigures in your head. After that, I won’t exist, and neither will you. We’ll be a new person that happens to be very similar to both of us.”_

He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, “ _I suppose it helps that we’re actually more similar than either of us thought we were. It’ll make the resultant person much closer to the originals.”_

You hide a shudder at that thought, and Signless smiled mirthlessly.

“ _You need to stop worrying so much. I’m not going to supplant you. When I say there will be a new person, I mean it in the same way that you are not the same person you were before you played Sgrub. Experiences change people. That’s all.”_

You shove the last forkfull of grubs into your mouth so you don’t have to respond to that, and he smirks knowingly at you.

“Let’s just finish this.” you say resignedly, setting the plate aside and reaching for Signless’ hand.

“ _If you insist._ ” He says, and for a moment, all you see is darkness before you are, once again, in the mental library you’d started in.

It takes you the rest of the night, and well into the next day to go through your time in the dream bubbles, and living it again makes you want to cringe. You hadn’t realized it at the time, but now that you’re alive again you want to scream at how ridiculous it all was. There was so much _time_ , so many opportunities to _change_ , and yet, you hadn’t at all! Oh, sure, you’d learned a couple of skills, and you’d perfected arguments, and you’d watched the others fall into and out of relationships, but you hadn’t actually grown as a _person._ It was _maddening_.

“It makes sense, actually.” Signless said from the armchair he’d imagined into being in the mindscape the two of you were sharing for this. “In the dream bubbles, anything you thought of could happen, right? And the more people were thinking of one thing, the more likely it would be for that to happen? Well, what happens if everyone sees one part of a person, and knows that that’s who they are?”

“It… doesn’t allow room for change.” You say slowly, realization dawning, and Signless nods.

“Small changes, like a new skill, or a new lover, yes. Big changes, like personal growth that would lead in a direction contrary to the way _everyone knows you are_? Not so much. I suspect much of the personality clashes that happened in the dream bubbles were a result of such stereotyping.”

“That makes _so much sense._ ” You breathe, and are, abruptly, horrified. How many of your interpersonal interactions were dictated by the way you _thought_ someone was going to react? This is _terrible!_

You groan, and bury your face in your hands. “I am going to owe so many people apologies…” you mutter, and Signless, the asshole, just laughs at you.

 


	50. Mituna- Meet Kankri 2.0

Kankri spent three nights locked in his respite block after he’d woken up in the block you sometimes shared with Porrim and Meulin. Part of you wanted to barge in and drag him out after the first night, but another part of you, a part that was older, and knew what he’d probably dreamed, warned you off.

By night four, however, you were done with waiting. Kankri had had _more_ than enough time to adjust, and you needed to see him with your own two eyes. You needed to know that he was okay.

Except… there’s a red turtleneck over by one of the windows. Little nubby horns poking out of messy black hair.

Kankri is there, staring out at the forest with a blank look on his face, his grey eyes distant, and suddenly you have no idea how to approach him.

In the end, someone else gets to him first, and you watch curiously as you matesprit saunters over and slings her arm over his shoulders.

Kankri stiffens, coming back to himself, then relaxes and shoots her a crooked smile.

“Latula.”

“Hey Kanny.” Her arm tightens for a moment, then she steps back, looking at him carefully from behind her red sunglasses. “How’s it hanging?”

Kankri shrugs, glancing back out the window. Latula waits, her face patient, watching Kankri.

“It’s odd.” He says musingly after a moment, and Latula snorts.

“Well yeah.” She agrees. “Alternia was fucked _up_.”

“That too.” Kankri nods, “But Signless said that we would create a new person together. Being that new person is almost more disconcerting than remembering Alternia.”

Latula ooohhhs softly, but you’re confused. Signless said? What? When the hell did he meet Signless?

“So you met him, then?” Latula asked eagerly, “What was he like? Was he cool?”

Kankri shoots her another crooked smile. “He was very… conflicted. He wanted peace between the castes, but the only way he could see to accomplish that was through war. It sat badly with him, a lot of the time.”

“I met Redglare.” Latula says abruptly. “She hatched later, but she heard his teachings. She grew up hearing about him. She thought that it was more Just than the way things were done. I- she became a Legislacerator so she could change shit from inside the system.”

Kankri’s head is tilted toward her, listening, and Latula seems to be getting uncharacteristically flustered.

“It didn’t work.” She said finally, softly. “We tried so hard, but it didn’t work. she died before she saw the end of the Summoner’s rebellion.”

For a moment Kankri hesitates, and you could swear his eyes slide in your direction, then he reaches out and tugs Latula into a hug.

It’s awkward looking, and Kankri is obviously not quite sure what he’s supposed to do next, but Latula clings to him for a moment, then shoves him away, laughing wetly.

“Sap.” She grins, and the crooked smile makes another appearance.

“If I were him,” Kankri says thoughtfully, “and you were her, I would say thank you, I think. Not for dying, and not for myself, but for trying. For recognizing that things were wrong and trying to do something about it.”

Latula’s grin is almost incandescent, and you’re starting to feel awkward just standing around watching when Kankri says something that gives you a freaking heart attack.

“And if Psii were around, rather than Mituna, I would tell him to _stop lurking around on ceilings like a misplaced piece of architecture!_ ”

And this time he’s definitely looking at you, which means he _definitely_ saw you just almost fall off of the ceiling in shock.

Shit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say airily, drifting down to head level as Latula whirls around and gapes at you, her eyes wide.

“Right.” Kankri says dryly, raising one skeptical eyebrow at you.

“I wath jutht admiring the carvingth on the rafterth.” You say, then cringe internally. That was so _weak_. “There'th chirpbeathtth. And flowerth.”

Fuck. You’re making it worse. Why can’t you ever just quit while you’re ahead!?

“M-Mituna?” Latula stammers, and you wince at the hurt confusion in her voice.

“Hey Tulip.” Your smile is more like a grimace in the reflection from her sunglasses.

“You’re… better?” She asks, and you shrug helplessly.

“I gueth? I think tho, at leatht. My thionicth are back, anyway. And I’m not running around like a crathy perthon much anymore…”

Shiiiiiit. You can see tears glittering in her eyes behind her sunglasses. You are the absolute worst matesprit. It is you.

“ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” The raw anguish in her voice cuts you to the quick, and you rush to cut her off before she can jump to any conclusions.

“I didn’t… I jutht… there wath thomething _wrong,_ okay?”

Latula flinches backwards like you’d slapped her, and your eyes widen behind the visor of your helmet.

“No! Thit! Not thomething wrong with you! There wath _never_ anything wrong with you!”

You’re doing this all wrong. You’ve fucked up. Shit shit _shit_ what are you gonna _do!?_

Cursing yourself, you rip your helmet off your head and twine your fingers in your hair, tugging on it so that the pain will center you in the here and now. So that you can _think_ , and maybe find the right thing to say.

Cool fingers wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away from your head, trapping your hands, and you look up to see Latula watching you with wary eyes.

“So what’s the haps, then, ‘Tuna?” Is all she says, and you take a deep breath, then let it out shakily.

“All I can remember from my ‘acthident’” you say, emphasizing the word sarcastically, “Ith that Kurloth wath there, and that it wath thomething _huge_ and _bad._ Kurloth worthipths the Mirthful Methiath. One of them wath Caliborn. When I firtht woke up and could acthually _think_ again? I wathn’t thure if Caliborn wath gone. I’m thtill not thure, and I’m not thure if Kurloth would try to find a way to bring him back if he could. I wanted to keep an eye on thingth without him being thuthpithiouth.”

Latula’s eyes narrow dangerously at you. “And what,” she demands, “would have been suspicious about letting me know? About not having to act pan damaged around your fucking _matesprit?_ ”

Carefully, you tug on your hands, trying to see if you can get free in case you need to run. Latula’s eyes narrow further, and her grip tightens until it’s just a hair shy of painful.

“Kurloth can read mindth!” You protest, and know instantly that that was the wrong thing to say.

“I,” your wonderful, beautiful, terrifying matesprit hisses draconically, “am a _Knight of Mind._ The day I can’t keep some two caegar _Prince_ out of my head is the day I’ll willingly allow _Kankri_ to lecture me about _ableism_!”

“Hey!” Kankri protests from behind her, but his indignation can’t cover his amusement, and you glare at him, shooting a couple of sparks his way.

Kankri absently steps further behind Latula, then steps on the sparks before they can set the floor on fire. Traitor. A fire _might_ have been enough of a distraction for you to get away from Latula before she kills you.

 


	51. Mituna- Meet Kankri 2.0 part 2

On the bright side, Latula doesn’t kill you.

On the… not so bright side, Latula does spend the next hour alternating between yelling at you for being an insensitive nooksniffer and explaining to you in the iciest, most _completely terrifying_ voice exactly _why_ pretending to be pan damaged still was the _absolute worst plan in the history of plans._ And also wrong.

Kankri, the sanctimonious _bastard_ , is standing just outside of Latula’s field of view, looking _very_ interested in some of the threats she’d come up with for if you ever did something so ‘monumentally, bulge-shrinkingly stupid’ again.

“And it never even _occured_ to you that _Kurloz can read minds_ might _possibly_ be a bad reason for you to not _tell someone_!?”

You cringe. Latula’s voice is starting to hit a pitch that you’re fairly sure only barkbeasts can hear.

Kankri breaks in to her rant smoothly, “As far as I can remember, your psionics can’t actually stop someone from reading your mind. Is that still correct?”

You feel the blood rush from your face and your eyes go wide as you realize that yes, actually, that _is_ the case.

“Oh _thit_.” you say faintly, and Latula gestures wildly from Kankri to you.

“ _Thank_ you! _That_ is _exactly_ what I was talking about!! What if he read your mind, huh?? What then? If he _is_ up to something, then, whoops! There goes your brain again! Scrambled beyond all repair! _And nobody would know, because you never said you were better!!_ ”

Her last sentence is half shrieked, and the enormity of your absolute fuck up hits you.

“Tulip, Tulip I’m thorry.” You croak, and to your horror feel tears start to well up in your eyes. “I’m thorry, I’m tho thorry. Pleathe, Latula, I’m _thorry._ ”

For a moment, she just stares at you, then, to your horror, she pulls off her own glasses and sniffs hard, scrubbing at her eyes with her hands.

“Dammit, it’s almost enough to get me to flip pale for you, you hopeless asshole.” She mutters, and reaches out to tug you into a hug that’s almost painfully tight.

You cling back, your eyes squeezed shut, and after a moment she gently disengages, then punches you _hard_ in the shoulder.

“Don’t you _ever_ do something like that again, you feel me?” She demands, and you nod, scrubbing at your own eyes.

When you look up, Kankri is watching the two of you with a fond half smile that dies as soon as he notices you looking at him.

“So.” He says, looking seriously between the two of you, “What now?”

“Now we find my rad as hell Dancestor.” Latula says firmly, before you can speak, and, huh. Yeah. That’s actually a pretty good idea.

 


	52. John- Make sure everyone is okay

Monday is the Dads’ Day. You always make sure to spend at least a little time with your Dad, and Jane’s Dad. It was a little awkward at first, since you’re Crockerdad’s dad’s alternate self, but after the first few Mondays the awkwardness vanished like it’d never been there, and the three of you ended up playing board games or talking pranks or baking. Sometimes the dads would tell stories about stuff that happened when they were kids. It was cool, and you usually had a lot of fun.

You don’t really have a schedule for the other six days; you mostly tend to just drift around and hang out with anyone looking particularly lonely. It’s not that you don’t love your friends! You’d love to just hang out with Dave and Jade and Rose, and even D! Just hanging out, shooting the shit and making fun of each other the way you used to? It sounds like some kind of heaven.

But… you’d seen Momlonde, a couple of days after you’d all arrived on the island? And she’d looked _terrible_. So you’d sat down, and chatted with her, and before you knew it she was telling you all _kinds_ of stories about Rose when she was little- from finding her on a meteor, to when she used to wrap a sheet around herself and run around with the broom, ‘flying’ just like the wizards her mom loved. It was all hilarious, and kind of adorable to think about.

You resolved to never ever let Rose know about the stories her mom was telling you, but by the time Momlonde wound down, she looked a lot better. Happier, at least, so now you’ll find her sometimes, and listen to her explain stuff, or tell her more details about the game, and she’s always really patient whenever you can’t explain something very well. Like the Windy Thing. She reeeaaaaally seems to want to understand that.

And then there was Jake. That guy seemed to just _roll_ in misery, and you can kinda sympathize with him, based on what you managed to get him to tell you, but at the same time, you don’t really get it? But telling you about it seemed to make him feel better, and you got him laughing by telling him about the pranks you’d pull on Dave, or about the prank wars your dad and you used to get into, and the two of you got into a _really_ involved conversation about movies that lasted for _hours._ It was actually kind of nice!

You’d met Dirk for real a couple days after that, and he’s… a little weird to talk to. Sort of like Dave, only not? You kind of get the feeling that he doesn’t like you that much. Or maybe that’s just how he is with everyone? Because you hardly ever see him talking to anyone besides Roxy or Jane. It’s kind of sad how Dirk and Jake are avoiding each other, but there’s nothing really you can do about it, aside from hang out with both of them.

Roxy, on the other hand, is _fun_. The two of you have a blast hanging out and playing video games and just messing around. Sometimes she’ll complain about Sollux, or how stupid 'her’ boys are being, and a couple of times all she’s really wanted to do was watch a movie and just, not think, but that’s fine too! You’re completely okay with watching movies! Especially since this new world you all made has _loads_ of movies you’ve never seen before! It’s great!

Sometimes Roxy’ll invite Nanna-Jane along, too, and those times the three of you usually end up plotting out some reaaaally elaborate pranks. Those are _awesome_. Especially the time you managed to get the drop on Dirk and put blue hair dye in his conditioner? It was _awesome._

Nanna-Jane still really likes to bake, apparently, which is weird, but okay, you guess, since she doesn’t use those Betty Crocker box mixes anymore. She says it’s because making things from scratch makes them taste better, but when you’ve gone with her and Jade to the mainland to help with shopping, you caught her making a face at the Betty Crocker boxes.

You aren’t too sure what’s wrong with Bro. He was being mind controlled, but now he’s not, so he should be fine, right? But he’s still hidng from everyone else, even though you’re pretty sure that almost everyone knows where he is. Sometimes you’ll go sit in front of his bedroom door, telling him about what’s been going on with everyone else.

Usually you can feel the steady push-pull of him breathing in there, so you know he’s there, but sometimes the air is so still that you’re pretty sure he’s somewhere else. You really don’t get why he doesn’t hang out with everyone else when he’s obviously not just staying in his room all the time, but whatever. You never really got why adults did the stuff they did anyway.

But even with all the hanging out with everybody else that you do, you still always, _always_ , make time for Dave and Rose and D and Jade. They’re your best friends. Hell, they’re basically your family, and you’d do anything to make sure they’re okay.

 


	53. Momlonde- Congratulations, It's a Boy

“Ack! Jade! No!” John yelped, dodging out of the way of Jade’s attempt to tackle him to get at the giant bowl of popcorn he was carrying, “Bad Jade! Worst sister!”

“C'mon John! Share! I just want a little!”

You watch as Jade dances around John, occasionally making swipes at the bowl and coming back with pieces of popcorn that she pops into her mouth with a broad grin.

“That’s what you said _last_ time!” John retorts, and takes to the air, cradling his popcorn protectively, “And _last_ time I only got a couple of handfuls before _someone_ ate all the rest!”

“Huh,” Jade chirps, following John into the air, “I wonder who that could have been…”

“That was _you!!_ ” John howls, and at your side, Rose snickers, one hand raised to hide her mouth.

“I thought they were just friends,” you say quietly to her, and your daughter glances up at you, one eyebrow raised.

“’Worst sister’?” you ask, and Rose’s expression clears as she realizes what you’re asking.

“Yes, it was quite a shock to all of us when we found out. Apparently, John found a lab while in the game and ended up creating all of us. You, Bro, John’s grandmother, and Jade’s grandfather included. With the way it worked out, John and Jade are ectobiological siblings, as are Dave and I. D, too, now. I believe we all might be cousins, as well, if I’m remembering the chart correctly. It’s all quite a large mess.”

You stare at your daughter, dumbfounded. “John just… found… an ectobiology lab, and made eight people? How?”

“Paradox clones.” Rose replies easily, “From what he’s described, all of our guardians are paradox clones of themselves, except for John’s father, who is the son of a paradox clone. We are the result of the mixed ectoplasm that was left over. Dave and I, obviously, are the results of Bro and your DNA mixing, whereas Jade and John more closely match Jane and Jake. He had to make them, too, once we got to their session.”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just…” you pause, trying to put it into words. “Ectobiology isn’t easy. You can’t just push a button and have a viable subject come out; it’s series of complex equations and precise ratios of nutrients to ectoplasm to DNA…” You gesture helplessly with one hand. “If it’s not done exactly right, then the probability of mutation in the subjects is, well, basically a hundred percent.”

Rose hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “From what John said, all he _did_ do was push a button. It seems as though everything else was handled automatically. And, to be fair, it is entirely likely that it was ‘fated’ to work out correctly, seeing as though it already had. We were, after all, there, as were you and the other adults.”

“Paradoxes on top of paradoxes…” You groan, and massage the bridge of your nose.

For a moment, the two of you are silent, watching John stalk sulkily out of the living room while Jade settles triumphantly on the couch, the bowl of popcorn firmly ensconced in her lap.

“I must say, you’re taking this better than I expected.” Rose comments idly, and you glance down at her, surprised.

“What do you mean?”

Rose shrugs slightly, then nods across the room, directing your attention to where Dave is sitting in one of the armchairs.

Actually, he’s sprawled sideways across Karkat, who’s sitting in the armchair and getting increasingly irritated, if the wild gesticulating is anything to go by. Dave, judging by the growing smirk on his face, is finding Karkat’s irritation wildly hilarious.

“I had thought,” Rose says slowly, “that a previously unknown biological child showing up out of Paradox space would be an upsetting discovery.”

You blink, then think about it. Before all of this, would you have been upset? Well, yeah, probably. You’ve never given birth to children, so finding out that you had a biological child you’d never even met? That would’ve been enough to send you into a month long bender, most likely.

But now? With everything the kids’ve told you about the game, and paradoxes, and Sburb?

You’re mildly surprised to find that it’s not actually that shocking.

“I think I’m acclimatizing.” You tell Rose, your voice thoughtful, and she looks directly at you, one eyebrow raised.

“My weirdness threshold seems to have gone up.” You clarify, and to your surprise Rose smiles at you.

“That does seem to happen.” She agrees as John stomps back into the living room, a new bowl of popcorn wafting the smell of buttery goodness everywhere.

Someone hits the lights, plunging the room into darkness and making the chatter die off as the movie starts to play.

 


	54. Cronus, Dream 2

It takes you a while to pull yourself together, but you can’t fall back asleep. Your skin is crawling, and laying in your pile is doing the exact opposite of helping.

Growling softly, you roll to your feet and stalk out of your respite block. You’d fucking _kill_ for some sopor right now; nice soothing slime, with just enough sedatives in it to knock you back out for the rest of the day.

You’re letting your feet guide you, not really thinking about where you’re going until you realize that you’re reaching out to open the front door and pause.

Sure, Earth’s sunlight doesn’t hurt as bad as Alternia’s. Or Beforus’, you remind yourself, but it’s bright as hell outside even when it’s overcast, and you don’t particularly feel like dealing with your eyes watering for a good few hours after you come back in where it’s sensibly dimly lit.

Your skin is itching. It’s crawling. It’s too dry up here, and you can’t hear the waves.

“Cronus?” The voice behind you is cautious, and you’re snarling at it before you even think, ear fins flared.

“Woah, calm down there, Rambo.” D’s wings are mantled, like he’s about to head for the ceiling the second he thinks you’re going to make a move at him, and you force yourself to calm down. To relax. You gotta be chill.

“Hey chief.” You say as casually as you can, and go to shove your hands into your pockets only to realize that you’d completely forgotten to put on any clothes at all.

The hints of red you can see on D’s cheeks under his shades say that he’s noticed too.

It’s still chill. You got this. Just… play it off.

“So…” D drawls awkwardly, and you nod.

“Yep.”

“Please tell me this isn’t a weird troll thing.” D says, deadpan, and you snicker.

“Nah, chief. I just felt like a swim.”

D nods slowly, and  doesn’t mention the fact that it’s the middle of the day.

For a moment he just looks at you contemplatively, and you half wish he wasn’t wearing those damn shades, if only so you could see where he was looking. Still, his blush is starting to fade, so it’s probably not directly at you.

“Want a lift?” He finally asks, and you boggle at him.

“What?”

“Do you want me to fly you out to the water?” D repeats patiently, “C'mon dude, keep up. It’ll be faster than trying to hike out through the forest.”

Your mood lifts considerably at that. “That’d be great! Thanks, chief!”

You grin at him, wide and pleased, and D shifts uncomfortably.

“Just… one thing,” he says a little plaintively, “d'you think you could put on some fucking pants?”

You glance down, then back up at him and your grin widens as you waggle your eyebrows at him.

“Sure thing, Chief.”

“Ampora,” D calls after you, “I swear to god if you show back up in a speedo I’m gonna drop you in the fucking forest!”

You just wave him off, making a mental note to look up what a ‘speedo’ is, later.

D’s waiting for you when you get back to the entry way, his wings twitching restlessly, and he nods when he sees you.

You hadn’t actually put on pants. They’d just get heavy and be a pain in the ass once you’re in the water. But you had found a pair of loose shorts, so you’d donned those and figured if they got to be too much trouble you could just strip 'em off.

“Right.” D says, one hand on the doorknob. “I’m not carrying your ass bridal style. That’s a bit too messed up. So once you’re ready for me to pick you up, hold your arms up over your head, got it?”

You aren’t sure what he’s planning, but you nod, and follow him out the door.

He seems to relax a little once he’s outside, but you’re squinting against the blinding glare of the sun, and can’t really see all that well, so it could just be your imagination.

Dust flies as his wings spread, then flap once, twice, and then he leaps into the air, his orangey red wings hammering at the air to get him height. You wait until he’s started circling, his wings wide open and flapping every few seconds, then you take a deep breath and hold your arms up over your head, watching D to see what he’s planning on doing.

He circles around overhead once, then heads out a little further over the edge of the cliff and sweeps back towards you, angling low.

Warm fingers grab your wrists just as he passes overhead, and you automatically grab back, grabbing his wrists back and running to maintain his momentum (and so you don’t end up on your face).

With a thrill of terror you realize that your feet are still touching the ground with every step, and that you’re headed right for the edge of the cliff.

“D?” You shout, and the fingers around your wrists tighten as you take three more running steps and fling yourself, screaming, out over the edge.

Gold wings _slam_ downwards, the feathers at the tips almost touching your feet at their lowest point, and the two of you lurch upwards.

It’s terrifying, and awe-inspiring, and you feel like you left your stomach back on the cliff top, but you can’t help whooping with joy as you watch the forest pass underneath your feet.

After a couple of moments, D’s wings aren’t beating so frantically, and you can sort of feel the way the wind is catching and pulling at the two of you, bearing you up, then letting you drop, almost like a purrbeast playing with a squeakbeast.

“I’ll take you out to the bay,” D shouts over the wind, “It’ll be easier than heading toward the open water. Get ready to let go once I get low enough.”

You nod, then realize he probably didn’t see you and shout back an affirmative.

D turns his long, slow strokes of the air into a glide, angling just _slightly_ downward toward the frog temple and letting gravity do most of the work for him. It’s weird as _hell_ , being in the air without anything more than some skinny human keeping you up, but at the same time it’s amazing. It makes you wish you had wings of your own even more than Rufioh’s constant flaunting of _his_ wings do.

You end up out over the water a lot faster than you’d thought possible, and D manages to get you so low that your toes are almost skimming the water.

“Thanks for the lift, chief!” you call up to him, and almost at the same time, the two of you let go of each other.

The water is _warm_ , and for a moment you luxuriate in the fresh, clean feel of the saltwater, then you kick once, twice, and your head breaks the surface. D’s circling the frog temple, and you wave at him, partly to let him know you’re all right and partly in thanks, then slip back under the waves.

Being out in the water brings a slew of memories rushing back; memories of hunting aquatic lusii, of the aching burn of polluted water through your gills, of daring, just the once, to swim close enough to Gl'bgolyb to see it.

You shake your head, and kick off the sandy bottom of the bay. It’s still too bright here, and it’s making your eyes hurt.

Swimming in Earth’s ocean is as different from swimming in Alternia’s as you could get. It’s warm, and there’s colorful coral and fish everywhere, and best of all, the water filtering through your gills doesn’t burn. The salt is soothing, and although there’s a faint hint of chemicals that you can’t identify, it’s nowhere near as bad as the near corrosive _ache_ of pollution.

It reminds you of Beforus, almost, though it’s still too bright, and just a little too colorful. It’s still enough to spark a pang of the homesickness that you thought you’d gotten over eons ago in the dream bubbles.

It’s easy enough to leave the bay if you swim low, down near the bottom where the currents aren’t strong enough to pull a violetblood off course, and you almost sigh with relief when the bottom drops away quickly, leading you down into murky darkness.

Down here, it feels even more homelike, even though you hadn’t spent much time in the water on Beforus. It’s dark, with dim light filtering through dozens of feet of water, and without the coral to hide in, there aren’t many fish. It’s just bare sand, with a few protruding rocks, and the gentle, almost imperceptible sway of the sea.

You catch yourself yawning, the familiar-not-familiar movement lulling you closer and closer to sleep, and scowl. You can’t fall asleep out here, with nothing to anchor you, or you’ll probably wake up in some trench somewhere, without anything to guide you back to land.

You haven’t even learned the stars here, (though why you’d have thought of that before, you don’t know.) You’ll have to find a cave or something to crash in, 'cause you didn’t get all the way down here just to turn around and go back to the hive.

It takes you a couple of hours of searching, your yawns growing more and more frequent as time passes, but eventually you find a decent sized cave, well under water, and with no tide marks inside. Even better, it had another opening in one side, smaller than the one you’d come in through, but enough to let water pass through so you wouldn’t run the risk of suffocating in your sleep.

It takes you another half an hour to harvest some of the sea grass growing about half a mile out from your cave, and when you’re finished you can barely keep your eyes open, but you’ve got yourself a decent amount of it to weave into a rope that’ll keep you anchored in your cave.

The finished rope isn’t much to look at, and part of you is embarrassed that you even made it, but it holds well around your ankle, and when you tug on it it doesn’t come apart, so you pile a few heavy rocks on top of the other end, and finally, _finally,_ let the sea lull you back to sleep.

 


	55. Bro, Make a Smoothie

“What’s he doing?” D whispers, peering over Dave’s shoulder into the kitchen.

“Not a damn clue,” Dave mutters back, his eyes glued to Bro, who’s been staring at the blender on the counter for a good five minutes.

“You don’t think…” D trails off ominously, and Dave’s face hardens.

“I’ll kill ‘em if he does.” he growls, “We’re used to it, but if John saw? Or Jade? Or any of the others?”

“Yeah.” D agrees, his voice grim, then, “Shhh, he’s moving.”

The two Striders watch as Bro walks over to the fridge, pulls it open, stares contemplatively into it for a moment, then pulls out-

“Shit! Dude, he’s going for the AJ!”

“What the hell? What the hell is he going to do with that?”

The fridge door swings shut, and the freezer is opened. Ice is procured, and Dave moans like someone just trashed his turntables.

“Oh god, why the hell would you add ice to apple juice?”

D is too busy gaping into the kitchen to answer, watching as Bro clunks the ice into the blender, then pours apple juice over it, slaps the lid back on and hits the start button.

For a moment Bro just watches the blades crush the ice, his face as inscrutable as ever, then a tiny smile slides onto his lips and he turns the blender off. An apple, some crackers, and another couple of ice cubes go into the blender, and it starts back up with a whine.

“Is he… making a smoothie?” D asks slowly, and Dave scowls.

“He’s wasting my fucking AJ is what he’s doing.”

D smacks Dave’s shoulders sympathetically, and they keep watching as the lumpy, half frozen concoction from hell is poured into a glass, then set aside.

“What, he’s not even going to drink it?”

Bro makes another trip to the fridge, then back to the blender, a jug of milk in his hand.

“Is he making another one?” Dave says incredulously as milk glubs into the blender, washing chunks of half mushed apple down the sides and into the bottom.

A splash of apple juice joins the milk, and then Bro really seems to just cut loose, pulling spices down from the open shelves, fruit and vegetables out of the fridge, and even some dry stuff like oatmeal and grits out of the pantry.

Some of it goes into the blender, and some of it gets put off to one side, but Bro is radiating smug satisfaction when he puts the lid back on and hits the button to start it blending.

D and Dave just gape.

“This… is a fucking travesty.” D says eventually, watching the mud colored goop swirl around in the blender. “Are we sure he’s not still possessed?”

“Fuck this.” Dave says abruptly, “I’m getting Rose.”

“Good plan.”

—-

“Rose. Rose, you have to come stop Bro.”

“What? Why? What is he doing?”

“He’s making the most godawful smoothie…”

“Dave.”

“No, you don’t understand. I think he put barbecue sauce in with apple juice!”

“That does sound hideous, but Dave.”

—-

“No luck?” D asks when Dave reappears, alone and looking downtrodden.

“She said no.” Dave confirms glumly, “That it was a vital part of the healing process or what the fuck ever. What’s this one?”

“Orange soda, a couple of eggs, more ice, like, three of those bigass grubs that Jade gets for the trolls and some of the weird sorbet shit that Momlonde likes.” D reports, “You know what you gotta do, right?”

Dave tilts his head to one side, a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that he’s probably not going to like where this is going. “What?”

“You gotta go stop him before he uses up the rest of the aj.” D says solemnly.

“What? No! _You_ go stop him!” Dave is very proud that he doesn’t yelp. D, on the other hand, startles.

“Me? Why? No!”

Too caught up in trying to decide which one of them should be the one to go tell Bro to stop making smoothies, neither of them notice Dirk come around the corner and saunter into the kitchen until-

“You know what’d go great in that?” Dirk says, his hands casually in his pockets as he looks at the new mix of stuff in the blender.

For a moment there’s nothing but silence as Bro looks slightly down at his younger alt. Dave and D hold their breath, watching to see how Bro responds.

“What?” Bro asks.

“Gushers.” Dirk says, nodding firmly.

Bro looks from Dirk, to the blender, then back again. “No way, man. Doritos are obviously the superior choice.”

The two watchers gape as Bro and Dirk proceed to egg each other on to making (somehow) even _more_ horrible concoctions.

“I don’t even think these can be called smoothies anymore…” D mutters, sounding slightly sick as Dirk tosses a handful of gummy worms into the blender on top of the canned beets Bro had emptied in just seconds prior.

“I’m not sure those could _ever_ be called smoothies,” Dave mutters back as Momlonde’s whiskey glubs into the mixture.

The blender whines and turns off and whines and turns off, and D and Dave watch in horrified fascination as Bro and Dirk proceed to make the most horrifying smoothies in the history of ever.

“What are we watching?” a conspiratorial female voice whispers from behind them,

“Bro and Dirk are making smoothies.” Dave whispers back automatically, then jumps and whips his head around to meet Momlonde’s grinning gaze.

“They are, are they?” she says, squinting at the mess in the kitchen. “Well then…”

And she straightens up and strides into the kitchen, the noise of the blender easily covering her approach.

D glances back at Dave, his eyebrows furrowed, and Dave just shrugs back, then turns his attention back to Momlonde just in time to see her straighten up, plaster an I-Am-Not-Amused expression on her face, and clear her throat just as the blender noise dies.

“What exactly are you two doing?”

The two of them freeze, then, as one, turn toward her, their faces indentically blank and completely silent.

There’s a rush of wind, and the kitchen is completely bereft of Striders, the only evidence they’d ever been there in the dozens of melting smoothies that cover the counters, and the still full blender.

Three floors away, one pair of pointy anime shades turns toward another.

“Do you think she’s pissed we used her blender?”

“I dunno. Do you think she’s pissed we used her whiskey?”

 


	56. Joe Egbert- Take the Kids to a Con

==>Joseph Egbert; Interest Teenagers In Culture. (Good luck, you’ll need it)

The first step, you decide, is to get the trolls off the island. Not permanently, oh heavens no. Just a day trip. Somewhere around the planet, so it’ll be daytime while the trolls are usually awake.

The actual first step is convincing the trolls that this is a good idea.

This is harder than you’d expected it to be.

Not only can you not take all thirty-three teenagers at once, but you also have to convince them to be human for the trip, something that the majority of them hadn’t (to your knowledge) done past that first awakening and subsequent panic.

Even the Beforans, who you’d thought might be more open to the idea, seem resistant, which leads you to a problem.

Almost invariable, when you bring up the idea, the first question asked would be some variation of ‘Why?’ or 'Where would we even go?’

The first question is easily answered. To get off the island. To interact with the new culture they’d found themselves suddenly immersed in, and to just have fun. The second question? That one’s a little harder, and you’re really not sure how to answer it.

Luckily, apparently, Jade takes the whole thing out of your hands.

There is a comic convention going on in Los Angeles in a week. Apparently, the webseries of the kids playing Sburb is popular enough that people will 'cosplay’ the characters, so the trolls could, theoretically, just go as themselves.

Originally, Jade’s idea was to just take everyone and see how things went, but thankfully, Roxanne was able to talk her down to seeing how it went with a buddy system; one troll per human that decided they were interested in going. You, of course, volunteered to go as a chaperone, and Roxanne was only too thrilled to volunteer as well.

So when you, a week later, found yourself surrounded by almost half the teenagers on the island, you really should have been less surprised.

“All right!” Jade chirps, “Air Jade is ready and raring to go! If you have to leave early, I’m not bringing you back to the 'con, so make sure you’ve got all your shit!”

“Get on with it, Harley.” Eridan drawls, rolling his eyes from next to D.

Jade glares at him, then frowns with concentration and green light starts to shine from her fingertips as she raises her hands, then brings them down in a sharp, sweeping motion.

Pitch darkness melts into bright morning light, and several of the trolls hiss, squinting against the bright light.

“All right,” you call authoritatively after a quick glance around to check that you’re in the right spot, “Make sure to keep in regular contact, but otherwise have fun!”

And with that rousing speech, everyone scatters.

Well, everyone except the lovely Ms Lalonde, and you smile as you offer her your arm.

“Shall we enjoy the convention, m'lady?” you ask, and she grins brightly at you as she links her arm with yours.

“Indeed we shall, kind sir!”

And the two of you head into the convention, curious as to what you’ll find inside.

==> Dave; Leave.

“Best friiieeeeend!” the cosplayer says again, stretching their arms out toward Karkat. You have to admit, it’s a pretty decent costume, but the way Karkat’s face has gone tight is a giant warning sign that if things keep heading the way they are, shit’s gonna go down.

“Get the fuck away from me, you retarded ass shitmuffin!” Karkat snaps, and turns to stalk away as a mixture of hurt and impressed flashes across the fake Gamzee’s face.

“But best friiiieeeend…” the cosplayer whines, and goes to fling their arms around Karkat from behind.

The second they make contact, Karkat is a blur of movement, and you are _incredibly_ glad that Dadbert made you leave your weapons at home.

That doesn’t, however, stop Karkat from whipping around and punching the fake Gamzee square in the face, sending him (at least, you’re pretty sure it’s a guy?) tripping backwards to land on his ass.

“Nope,” you say, darting in between Karkat and the cosplay guy when it looks like Karkat wants to hit him again. “We’re gone. Time to go.”

For a second it looks like he’s going to try to fight you on it, but when you take his wrist and start to tug him away he follows, his head down. You can feel him shaking, but you don’t know why. The best you can do is drag him into the elevator and hit the button for the highest floor.

“Jade,” you murmur, letting the Gift of Gab flow and echo in the small space, “we gotta go.”

“What?” Jade sounds confused, and you’d totally welcome her to the club, but it’s fairly exclusive, and you’re not really sure that she’s all that qualified. “Why? What happened?”

“Some cosplayer was being a douche and Karkat punched 'em in the face.” You say simply, and Jade gasps.

“Oh my gosh! Is he okay?!”

You glance over at Karkat, who’s scowling at the brushed steel wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, I think so. He’s with me, so if you could just use that Witchy mojo to send us back, that’d be great.”

“What?” Now she’s getting there. That was _almost_ confused enough for entry to the club. Then she 'ohhh’s and you can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Not Karkat, dummy, the cosplayer!”

That makes you pause. “I… don’t know? I kind of wanted to get out of there before security showed up.”

Jade makes an aggrieved noise, then sighs. “I’ll check on him, if I can find him. Where was it?”

You give her directions back to the front of the hotel, even though you’re fairly sure she’s not going to find anyone there, and when you’re done the familiar green light envelopes the two of you, then vanishes, depositing you and Karkat on the green lawn near the front door.

Near instantly, Karkat stomps up the stairs and slams the door open, bee lining for the living room and poking his head in, then pulling it back out and heading toward the transportalizer.

You follow him, wondering just what the hell is going on as you rematerialize on Karkat and Gamzee’s floor.

“Best friend?” the clown’s voice calls from down the hall, and Karkat stiffens, then relaxes.

“Yeah.” he calls back, and a moment later you hear the barely perceptible drag of his too-large pants on the carpet.

==>Be Karkat

The sight of Gamzee, the _real_ Gamzee, who _isn’t_ a one dimensional _moron_ , and _isn’t_ on sopor anymore, and _isn’t_ a horrible murderclown sends a flood of something very like relief through you, and you barely notice yourself crossing the room to throw your arms around his middle, clinging tightly.

“This doesn’t mean anything.” you tell him, your voice harsh even though it’s muffled by the fact that your face is pretty much buried in his shirt.

For a moment, Gamzee doesn’t move, then his long, thin arms wrap around you, cuddling you _almost_ too tight, and you can feel it as he looks up from the top of your head to glare at Dave.

You can also feel the prickly shiver of his chucklevoodoos starting to leak at the edges, and you squeeze once, warningly.

“There was a cosplayer.” Dave says after a moment, his voice completely expressionless, and you feel a momentary pang of guilt before you squash it. Fuck it. You _need this._

“Dressed up like you,” Dave continues, and Gamzee’s arms tighten, making you huff slightly. “He wouldn’t leave Karkat alone. I guess he figured that Karkat was just really in character or something.”

“That motherfucker didn’t fucking touch him?” Gamzee demands, and fabric rustles from behind you.

“Didn’t have the chance.” Dave confirms. “Karkat punched him out first.”

“Good.” Gamzee purrs, and Dave clears his throat.

“So… I’m just gonna. Not be here.” He says, and the transportalizer hums before you can say anything.

Gamzee relaxes once Dave’s gone, and wraps you more firmly in his arms, rocking back and forth slightly, a low, atonal hum building in his chest.

You would protest, that’s getting pretty pale, but at the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re just happy to be away from the mockeries of your hatefriends and in front of the real deal.

You’re safe with this Gamzee. You know him. You’re safe.

It’s okay.

 


	57. John- Blackflirt with Terezi

==> John: Get the hang of this ‘Black Flirting’ thing

It can be said that in every species there are 'morning’ people, and not morning people. For humans, there is a wonderful, marvelous concoction called 'coffee’ that is used to, if not turn not-morning people into morning people, then at least lessen their resemblance to shambling corpses.

When two of the last four humans in existence had introduced coffee to four of the last six trolls in existence, well, let’s just say that there were a couple of new converts worshiping at the alter of java in short order.

That hadn’t changed once the new universe frog and been hatched and grown to maturity; in fact, now that they were all out of the game, more coffee than ever was being drunk, and a lot of it was disappearing down the ravenous maw of a particular teal blooded pain in your ass.

But you had a plan. It was an awesome, diabolical plan, and was so, _so_ simple.  
Early in the afternoon, when all the trolls were asleep, you’d gone into the kitchen and found every single canister, jar, bag, and loose bean of coffee and tucked them all into their own, carefully labeled jars. You’d then, with the help of your completely awesome windy powers, sucked all of the air out of the jars so that they were nicely vacuum sealed.

Ha! Not even a hint of coffee smell would be escaping those jars!

Just to be sure, though, you’d stuffed them all into your sylladex.

Now all you had to do was wait for Terezi to 'wake up’ and come stumbling downstairs for her usual evening jug of tar.

==>Karkat; Be dumbfounded

You have never in your life been more glad that you hadn’t developed a taste for that bitter swill the humans had introduced you to on the meteor. Watching Terezi tear apart the kitchen in a half asleep stupor had passed out of the realm of funny and into the realm of kinda pathetic about thirty seconds in, and now you’re half considering getting off your (still) sleep deprived ass and helping her find the damn stuff, if only to shut her up.

Vriska, who really should be the one to help her moirail out, has, (of fucking course,) fallen asleep at the table; judging by the slowly growing puddle of cerulean drool under her cheek, she’s not going to be waking up any time soon.

With a huge sigh, you open your mouth to demand that Terezi sit her ass down and let the more awake people fix her some damn coffee, then shut it with a sharp click as John breezes (ha) into the room, looking far too damn cheerful.

“Hey Terezi!” He chirps, “Whatcha looking for?”

“G'mmec'ffee…” Terezi groans, splaying herself out across the counter and sticking her nose where the coffee should be like she’s hoping to get her caffeine fix from the lingering smell.

John frowns, and the first frisson of something crawls down your posture pole.  
“Coffee?” He says, “But it’s all gone.”

Terezi goes suddenly, dangerously still, and John, poor, dumb, oblivious, John, keeps blathering on.

“I threw it all away!” His blue eyes are wide and earnest, “'cause chemical dependence isn’t healthy, and-”

“You threw… my coffee… AWAY?!”

Terezi’s shriek not only cut’s John off in mid-sentence, but jolts Vriska out of dreamland and leaves you wincing from the sheer volume.

John just looks at her, nodding slightly as he bounces a little on his toes. “Yup! I wanted to make sure that everyone is as healthy as they could be! Which means no more coffee at all!”

Terezi lunges at him with a feral scream, and John laughs, doing a flight assisted somersault through the air over her head, and kicking her in the butt as he landed.

“Come on, Terezi! It’s not a big deal! It’s just a nasty, smelly drink that only old people drink!”

The sword cane comes out of Terezi’s sylladex, and as soon as live steel enters the picture, John’s laughter redoubles and he takes to the air again, doing a quick circuit of the kitchen before darting out the swinging door.

“Catch me if you can, then, shark-lady!” He yells over his shoulder, and Terezi, as completely out of control as you have ever seen her, goes charging after him, shrieking threats and exhortations to bring the coffee back.

You aren’t sure whether to be in awe or insanely jealous.

“That guy’s got a fucking death wish.” Vriska observes sleepily, “'Cause once I finish waking up I’m gonna gut him for getting rid of the coffee.”

You scoff.

“Don’t be stupid. Try to use at least one of the eight brain cells you’re so proud of and look around.”

It takes her a minute, but you can tell when she spots the series of labeled jars next to the coffee maker.

“That wasn’t there before.” she frowns, and you nod.

“He dumped it out of his sylladex when he passed over.”

“So that was…” she asks, looking from the coffee, to the door, then back.

“The most perfect example of black flirting I’ve ever seen a human attempt?” You complete for her, “Yes. Yes it was.”

“Daaaamn.”

 


	58. Feferi, Save Eridan's Life (With a bit of Help)

Feferi swore furiously at herself as she hauled Eridan through the water. The idiot had stopped paying attention to pretty much anything, as far as she could tell; too enraptured by a bright purple sea star to notice that visibility was dropping fast. When she’d tried to tug his attention back toward the surface, he’d nodded absently, then promptly dumped air and started sinking toward the bottom where she could just barely see more flashes of purple.

Which led to now, with her kicking hard toward the surface and dragging Eridan after her, her fingers gripping his BCD so tightly that she was half afraid of ripping the reinforced silicon and fabric.

Not that it would change much! She snarled mentally, pumping more air into her own vest in short bursts and trying to hit the sweet spot that’d have the buoyancy equalized as fast as possible.

She was almost positive that they hadn’t been out long enough for the tide to start turning, so the only reason for the visibility to be dropping so fast was if one hell of a storm was whipping up on the surface, and if that was the case, Feferi wanted to be back in the safety of the bay long before it really kicked in.   
Which meant heading back up right now, only pausing at the proscribed intervals just long enough to be as sure as possible of not getting her or her (she was fairly sure) narced partner, bent.

Speaking of whom; Eridan had gone strangely pliant in her grip, and she shifted around twisting him so she could look through his face mask and check his eyes. She wasn’t worried about his breathing; bubbles were still coming from his regulator at regular intervals, but if he was unconscious… There was too good of a chance of him dropping the regulator out of his mouth, and really, she did not want to deal with that right now. Luckily, his eyes were open, staring into the middle distance blearily, and Feferi sighed with relief, the rush of bubbles pouring towards the surface.

Something giggled.

Feferi froze, then shook her head and checked her timer before kicking to the next pause point on the diveline. Only one more and they’d be back on the yacht where she’d be able to yell at Eridan until she felt better.

A shadow brushed past them, murky and green and very, very large.

Feferi’s grip on Eridan’s vest slipped, and she had to scramble to catch him, only just managing to grab the knob of his air tank. 

More laughter poured through the water around her; sounding liquid and vaguely bubbly, and Feferi scowled as she hauled her partner back up into position. She didn’t like being laughed at in the best circumstances, but now, dealing with a narced dive partner, what she was pretty sure was an oncoming storm, and having to leave a dive early? It was lucky whoever was laughing at her wasn’t diving with her, or she might have ‘accidentally’ kicked off their mask.

Anxiously, she checked the timer. Only another minute or so and it’d be safe to head up the rest of the way, but the closer they got to the surface the more they were going to be tossed around, and she’d have to keep hold of the line to make sure she was coming up in the right place.

Something tugged her left fin.

Feferi almost dropped Eridan as she spun in place, her eyes wide.

Behind her, grinning with rows of teeth that looked like they might more at home in a shark’s face, was a girl. Her short dark hair curled around her head in a wavering halo, and her eyes were large and green and slit pupiled, and Feferi was really just thinking about all of that so she wouldn’t have to think about the long, powerful looking fish tail that was attached to the girl from the waist down.

‘ _Hi!’_ The girl waved, her grin not wavering in the slightest, and the motion drew Feferi’s attention to the fact that she was wearing not a single stitch of clothing.

Also, the girl had a really nice body, considering the fact that she was half fish. Part of Feferi thought that she really should be more shocked by that. The rest of Feferi was just done with everything. Still, no reason to be rude.

 _'Hi.’_ Feferi waved back, adjusting her grip on Eridan.

The other girl’s gaze followed her movement, and quick as a flash she was in his face, examining him closely before looking up at Feferi.

 _'That okay?’_ She asked, her hand signs looking as practiced as any diver Feferi had ever met, and Feferi gave her the 'so-so’ hand waggle. She was pretty sure he’d be fine once she got him out of the water and could actually smack some sense into him.

 _'Going up.’_ Feferi said, the gesture awkward with only one hand, then, on impulse, _'follow?’_

The… mermaid backed off a few feet, her head tilted consideringly, then gave the 'okay’ sign again.

This time, when Feferi headed for the surface she had a silvery green escort, darting into and out of sight with easy flicks of her tail and bright flashes of teeth or eyes. Something about the mermaid flickering around her like a hummingbird made it easier for her to concentrate on the ascent, which is when, of course, Eridan started to come back to himself, struggling weakly against her hold and making it significantly harder for her.

The mermaid noticed her slowing down, and paused, watching. When Eridan gave a particularly violent thrash, she frowned, then flashed into Eridan’s line of sight and straight toward his face, snapping her (so many, holy shit,) teeth shut just in front of his mask. He froze, and she gave him a toothy grin, winking merrily at Feferi before going back to her circling patrol.

Eridan, for a fucking miracle, remained still the rest of the way to the surface, only moving to adjust his BCD when Feferi filled it with air to keep him on the surface.

“Fef.” He croaked, spitting out his regulator, “Fef, that was a fuckin’ mermaid.”

Feferi shove his regulator back in his mouth and started towing him back to the yacht, unwilling to deal with him before she’d made sure that they were (relatively) safe. 

This time when he started moving it was to help, kicking with her towards the yacht, and they reached it much faster than they would have otherwise, even despite the rapidly increasing waves.

Feferi made Eridan wait and went up the ladder first, partially so that if he lost his balance he wouldn’t fall back onto her, and partly so that she could help him onto the stairs. (And partly so that she could try not to pay as much attention to the head of black hair, slicked back by water, that had popped up not far away.)

“Thanks Fef.” Eridan muttered, subdued, as he stripped out of his vest, and Feferi sighed as she rolled her shoulders, glad to be free of the weight of the tank.

“Go get warmed up, idiot. And be ready to move, quick. I really don’t like the way this is picking up so fast. ” She said, and started stowing all of the gear in it’s various lock boxes. It wasn’t until the door to the cabin clicked shut that she dared to peek out towards where she’d last seen the head of dark hair.

Green eyes stared back at her from a distance of approximately two feet.

“HOLY-!” Feferi yelped, then broke down laughing as a huge grin spread across the mermaid’s face.

“Hi!” She chirped, pushing herself further up the steps, and above water her voice was much, much different than the liquid sound of her laughter had been.

“Hi,” Feferi said bemusedly, tossing the weights from her BCD into the bucket they used for the dirties. “Thanks for your help.” She added, and the mermaid shrugged.

“I didn’t do that much. That one was squirming like a fish on a hook! It was funny!”

Feferi laughed, then sobered as a burst of wind slapped a wave up over the edge of the boat.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, stuffing her bcd into one of the cabinets and hauling her air tank over to where the spares were lashed down.

“The storm?” The mermaid asked, and Feferi was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s not safe for us landlubbers.”

“You should come back.” The mermaid said, her voice suspiciously casual, “you almost found something pretty cool.”

Feferi arched one eyebrow, pausing in her preparation, “Yeah? What was it?”

The mermaid grinned at her, “You’ll have to come back and see! But maybe leave that one behind, yes?”

Feferi grinned back, “I guess I will!”

“Good!“

"Fef, we gotta go!” Eridan’s voice shattered the easy camaraderie, and Feferi whipped around.

“Almost ready!” She shouted back, and started tightening ties. “I’ll try to come back a couple of days after things calm back down out here,” she said pitching her voice to just barely carry above the wind, and the mermaid nodded, pushing away from the steps and arching backwards to land headfirst in the water. A couple of moments later she popped back up again, and waved.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you!” She called, and Feferi waved back.

It wasn’t until they were safely tucked into a sheltered bay and she was cuddling a travel mug of cocoa that something occurred to her.

_Did… I just make a date with a mermaid?_

 


	59. Roxy- Flood out your downstairs neighbor

_Two: The A22hole iin apartment 203_

_Ii 2wear to god, iif you flood your bathroom one more tiime Ii won’t be held re2ponsiible for the hell Ii wiill raiin down on you. You liive above me, a22hole, and the water leak2 iintwo my liiviing room._

_Tiired of your 2hiit, apartment 197_

  
  


Roxy stared bemusedly at the note she’d found taped to her apartment door on her way in from work. She hadn’t thought she had flooded the bathroom since the time-which-shall-not-be-spoken-of, but obviously something had happened since she’d left for work that morning, and if it was bad enough that her downstairs neighbor was complaining, then she shuddered to think about what had happened to her own floor.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

“Surprise!” Two voices chimed, and Roxy’s flew wide as two dark haired, nearly identical people practically pounced on her.

“So wait,” Roxy laughed a while later, ensconced at her kitchen table with a tray of muffins being shared between herself, Jake and Jane. “You guys showed up literally twenty minutes after I leave, broke into my apartment, and then just hung out here all day waiting for me to get back? Why didn’t you call!?”

“Don’t be silly,” Jane sniffed primly, “That would have ruined your birthday present.”

“Plus it gave me time to fix your toilet.” Jake added, grinning shamefacedly, “Has the damn thing always been that tempermental?”

“Wait, you’re the one who flooded the bathroom?” Roxy demanded laughingly, “I mean, yeah, it has issues, but I figured out the trick to stop it flooding every couple of days months ago!”

“Yeah,” Jake winced, “Um, that is, yes. But I fixed it!” He added hastily, and Jane nodded along with him.

“And cleaned up all of the water.” She frowned, then glanced down the short hallway to the bathroom. The short, carpeted hallway. “The carpet’s probably still damp though." 

Roxy waved them off. "It’s fine, I’ve been trying to get the manager to do something about it since basically when I moved in. At this point I’m pretty sure that the dude is dead or something.”

Jane frowned, but said nothing, and Jake brought up the latest Star Trek movie, fairly effectively diverting the conversations.

It wasn’t until Jane and Jake left and she was getting ready for bed that Roxy remembered the note from her downstairs neighbor and pulled it out of her pocket, examining the weird spelling mistakes and cramped handwriting for a long moment before tossing it towards her desk trash and forgetting about it.

Or rather, she mostly forgot about it. Every once in a while something would drag up the memory of it, she’d spend a while wondering what kind of hell her neighbor could possibly come up with, and then she’d forget about it again.

Until her tub overflowed.

In her defense, it (mostly) wasn’t her fault. The secondary drain was, apparently, only for show, and the shower head had been leaking for days, so she’d felt pretty comfortable just leaving a bucket to catch the leak every morning before she’d gone to work. A bucket that sat right over the primary drain. And wouldn’t move once it was full of water.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she got home and saw the another note on her front door. It only had three words on it, but those three words rang in her head like a bell as she went through the motions of cleaning up The Great Flood, Part 4.

_Ii warned you._

  
  


Roxy was pretty sure she didn’t have to wonder about the sort of hell her neighbor could come up with anymore. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she would have thought that her neighbor had some sort of magical ability to make everything in her life turn to shit.

And it all began and ended with electronics.

Anything that she owned that connected to the Internet was suddenly the buggiest, most malware filled piece of shit she’d ever used, despite the customized firewalls and virus protection that she’d built herself.

Her power was shut off three times in five days for lack of payment. It took three hours on the phone each time to get it turned back on, and each time the person on the other end was baffled as her account would miraculously reappear in their system.

Her Netflix account was suddenly restricted to only shows rated teen and under.

Every single religious mailing list in the area was sending her pamphlets and donation requests.

She was pretty sure that her being late for work three days in a row was their fault, too, since catching every single red light on the way was a statistical improbability, but she couldn’t really prove it.

She’d walked straight into a closed automatic door that only seconds before had opened just fine for someone else.

The last straw was waiting for her at her mailbox, on the seventh day of the week of hell, and it didn’t even have anything to do with the asshole in 197. 

“Heya, Dollface,” Cronus Ampora, wannabe greaser, wannabe musician, and definitely her ex, smiled toothily at her, his hair slicked back with what had to be at least half a pound of gel.

“What are you doing here, Cronus.” Roxy asked, her voice flat.

Cronus pouted, pushing away from the wall and sauntering towards her. “What, can’t a guy just drop in to see how an old flame is doin’?”

“No.” Roxy said even more flatly, and Cronus winced theatrically.

“Jeeze Rox, you’re being pretty harsh-”

“No, I’m not. I’m being blunt.” Roxy interrupted, crossing her arms and glaring at him, “There’s a fucking difference, Cronus. Now why are you here?”

“I need a place to stay. Meenah kicked me out.”

Roxy gaped at him. “How about not?” She asked, then shook her head. “Actually, how about hell fucking no!”

“Awww, c'mon Rox,” Cronus wheedled, and Roxy exploded.

“I said no! Jesus fucking Christ, Cronus, I have had the week from hell and there is no way I can fucking deal with you right now! Christ, you didn’t even have the decency to call! What were you going to do if I wasn’t here, harass my neighbors?” She barked with bitter laughter at that idea, “There’s a plan, yeah, let’s just piss them off even more than I already have!”

Cronus opened his mouth to say something, but Roxy just rode right over him, the words spilling from her mouth in a flood now that she’d started.

“Do you know, I didn’t even do it on purpose!” She said, “I just couldn’t figure out how to make it stop dripping! But does that asshole do anything reasonable, like calling the manager on me or something? NOooooooOOooo!” She throws her arms out wildly, nearly hitting someone tall and thin who’d just come in the front door, with her purse. “No they do not!” She says emphatically, “Instead!” She declares, stabbing one finger into Cronus’ chest, “Instead I get hacked!”

Cronus raises one eyebrow doubtfully. “You.” He clarifies, “You got hacked?”

“Yes!” Roxy wailed, “Everything! I could practically see this asshole  cracking my firewalls as fast as I could build them!”

The other guy, now over by his mailbox, chokes abruptly, but Roxy was too into her spiel to stop.

“And it wasn’t even my fault! I can’t afford to call a plumber! Do you even know how much they cost!?”

Cronus was starting to look a little trapped, and Roxy abruptly realized that she’d backed him up against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, took a step back, and let the breath out slowly.

“So to get back to the original point,” She said, dragging a veneer of calm back over herself, “No. You can’t stay with me. My carpet still isn’t even dry from this last clusterfuck.”

“Right, okay, thanks Dollface, bye!” Cronus croaks, and Roxy watches, vaguely bemused, as he scrambles to get out the door.

As soon as he was out of sight though, all of the fight went out of her and she sighed, slumping despondently against her mailbox.

“Boyfriend troublth?” A rough voice, deep, with the faintest hint of a lisp, asked, and Roxy turned her head to look at the speaker.

“No.” She sighed, recognizing the guy she’d almost hit with her purse. “He’s just an ex. His newest girlfriend kicked him out. Sorry for about the purse to the face.”

“It'th fine.” The guy smiled crookedly, “You mithed, anyway.”

Roxy nodded, “That’s good.”

The guy nodded back and turned to head upstairs. “I hope thingth get better for you!” He called back over his shoulder, and Roxy smiled weakly.

“Thanks!”

When she finally made it all the way up the stairs to her apartment (because of course the elevator stopped working for her, too,) there was another note taped to it.

_2orry._

 


	60. Eridan, that is not how you get a boyfriend

Floating idly on his back, Eridan stared through the dozens of feet of water up at the sun, his fins idly flicking just enough to keep him moving in a slow, lazy line just above the white sand of the ocean floor.

“Oh sure,” he muttered to himself, “come to the Caribbean, Eri, it’s so beautiful, Eri, there’s so much to do, Eri!” He scoffs, rolling onto his stomach and glaring at a passing parrotfish.

Quick as lightning, his hand darted out, claws easily slicing through the flesh and dragging the struggling fish back to him. It took only a second to get rid of the damnable beak, and in moments he was back to drifting along, munching on his snack and grumbling to himself through mouthfuls of (honestly not that great) fish.

“So of fuckin’ course she just floats off to scratch her itch wwith her newwest fuckin’ boy toy, leavvin’ me alone in a strange ocean to entertain myself. Wwhat happens if I get eaten, huh?” He demanded, flipping upright to halt his forward motion, “It’s fuckin’ unconscionable, is wwhat it is!”

Nothing but silence greeted his outburst, and slowly, he drooped, leaning forward until he could resume forward motion and heading for a large rocky outcropping he’d spotted amongst the nearest stand of coral.

He supposed he was lucky that he wasn’t more accustomed to cold water. Or that her boyfriend wasn’t a cold water fish, at least. It hadn’t been much fun crossin’ the Atlantic, but the water temperature was at least similar to what he was used to, even if it did taste different.

Still, it seemed like he was in luck- there was a decent enough overhang for him to hang out under, with a decent view of the coral, and a couple of bright anemones swaying in the light current. Fully intent on ignoring the beautiful view, Eridan sank down onto the sand underneath the overhand and settled into a truly epic sulk.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before he noticed, but slowly a familiar sound filtered through his sulking, bringing him out of the half-doze he’d fallen into and back to full awareness.

_Kkk-whoosh_

The sound of air rushing through tubes. Muted exclamations of awe or surprise. Grunts of frustration and more air moving around. Snaps and clicks and thuds.

Divers.

Eridan’s eyes narrowed and his teeth bared in an unconscious snarl as his ear fins flared wide.

Fuckin’ divers, here, way the hell out of the way and off the coast of any island in at least half a day’s swim.

It made him want to scream.

Instead, he flipped his tail once, hard, and darted out of the alcove he’d found, his eyes flying around to figure out where the hell they were so he could make waves away from them as fast as he could.

What he saw made him pause, stunned.

One of the divers, obviously inexperienced by the flailing and inability to stay at any one particular height in the water, had reached for a piece of bright orange coral. He couldn’t tell if they’d been planning on breaking it off, or just touching it, but they hadn’t even had a chance before someone else had intervened, their hand shooting out to catch their wrist and haul them away from the delicate organism.

From the way the second guy was gestulating, newbie was getting one hell of a reaming out, even through the ridiculous sign language divers had to use, and when newbie eventually turned and swam back to where Eridan could just barely make out a rope stretched between the sea floor and a boat, body language downtrodden, Eridan was stunned.

What the fuck?

And that was it. He couldn’t leave now. He needed to know if it was a fluke, or if the second guy really did give a shit.

So he stayed, floating behind convenient stands of coral, and rocks, and once even darting low enough that his stomach scraped the sand to hide in the floating wisps of sea grass that was the only cover nearby when That Guy looked around.

To Eridan’s surprise, it really did seem like he gave a shit, stopping the other divers from touching and breaking and bothering so much that it was a fuckin’ wonder he even got a chance to breathe. By the time they all retreated to the rope, Eridan could practically feel the water heating up from the sheer force of That Guy’s rage.

And he was really curious to hear how he was going to vent it, so Eridan waited until all the divers were out of the water, then finned his way over to the boat and popped his head out of the water right next to the side, where only someone looking directly over the side would see him.

The blistering, invective filled tirade that poured into his ears nearly made him duck back under water, instinctively trying to get away from the threat, but he forced himself still, listening more.

Sounds always seemed too flat above water, but the sheer rage that The Guy stuffed into his words more than made up for it. When the boat started to leave and he still wasn’t done shouting at his, (apparently tourists?) group, Eridan followed, not trying to hear any more, but just hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that gave that much of a damn about his fucking home.

The closer they got to one of the islands, the slower Eridan swam; curiosity warring with caution.

Curiosity, of course, won out, and before long Eridan found himself in a surprisingly calm harbor, watching as people poured off the boat, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, and not a single one seeming to have learned a damn thing from The Guy.

The Guy. Who was standing at the gangplank, staring after them with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion on his face. Who was short, and muscular, and very, very tan.

And very very human, Eridan reminded himself, his mental voice vicious as his heart thumped hard.

He’d had his look now, it was time to leave. Fef’d be worrying if she couldn’t find him.

Eridan made to swim away, then hesitated, and looked back.

The Guy hadn’t really moved, only leaning against the wooden post his boat was tied to.

He really should go…

Fuck it.

Turning on his fin, Eridan raced back toward The Guy, calculating arc and trajectory and how fast he was going before thrashing once, twice, and flinging himself forward, out of the water and over the dock.

His hands caught the Guy square in the chest, knocking him backwards as Eridan’s momentum carried both of them over the edge of the dock and into the water.

 


	61. Kankri <3< Aranea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said -This is my first prompt request. (Have mercy on my soul) Kankri hate flirt with Aranea?

Aincrad- Floor 17,   
January 1st, 2023  
  
"Do you," Kankri hissed irritably, throwing himself in to the chair across the table from his quarry, "have _any idea_ how long I've been looking for you?!"  
  
Blue eyes rolled and a cup of tea was set gently down on the wooden table.   
  
"About as long as I've been avoiding you?" Aranea asked rhetorically, "Since the game started? Since-"  
  
"I figured out that you set all of this up on porpoise?!" Kankri growled, then flushed to the tips of his ears. "Purpose. I meant _purpose_ , damn it all!"  
  
Aranea's grin didn't bode well for his sanity. "What? Being her majesty's favorite rubbing off on you?"  
  
"No!" Kankri snapped, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring it up again! Really, you'd think that someone that old would be able to remember certain things, but no. I'm constantly being dragged into the most triggering situations, and I really can't keep-"  
He cut himself off, then directed another baleful glare at the woman across from him.  
"Don't think you can distract me! Now that I found you, you are going to explain what exactly was going through your head to have you orchestrate all of this."  
  
'This' was punctuated with a wild arm movement that was supposed to encompass all of Aincrad, and the entire situation at large. What it actually did was nearly knock the tray out of a passing NPC's hands.  
  
Aranea hid a grin behind her hand.  
  
"It's actually really simple." She said after a moment, drawing Kankri's attention back to her ( _where it should be_ ). "I wanted to see what he'd do."  
  
"What."  
  
"I wanted." She said slowly, "To see what a human would do, when 'helped' to develop technology beyond what everyone else was capable of. I must admit, a game wasn't what I was expecting."  
  
"A _death game_." Kankri hissed, sounding like a particularly irritated scalebeast, "A game where people are dying, every single day."  
  
Aranea waved him off. "People die every day anyway. Besides, at least your little dancestor and his crew and matesprit are happy, right?"  
  
"That is beside the point!" Kankri swelled up like a little red self-rightous balloon, "All of this is your fault!"  
  
"And?" Aranea yawned, covering her mouth delicately with one hand. (Keeping an eye on that Titan's Hand player had certainly paid off when it came to letting her piss people off with just body language, and the way Kankri's eyes narrowed was priceless.)  
  
"And you need to fix it." Kankri growled, and Aranea could almost, almost hear the rattling undertones that would tell her for certain that he'd picked up on her own special brand of pitch solicitation.  
  
One delicate hand, (still unfamiliar in it's artificial humanity. It wouldn't do to spark a panic about aliens, after all, not when they couldn't leave,) picked up the teacup and raised it to her lips.  
  
"Hmmm." Muscles bunched in Kankri's jaw as she carefully returned the teacup to the saucer, blotted at her lips with the provided napkin, then turned her attention back to him. "No."  
  
"Why. _Not._ " Kankri forced the words out between gritted teeth, his fingers clenching on top of the table.  
  
"Because for one," Aranea said, "it would be highly suspicious, and likely blow our cover. For two, because apparently unlike you, I enjoy being able to see our respective dancestors happy with their respective quadrantmates, and for three," she paused, for a moment, contemplated taking another sip of her tea, then decided against it. "I don't want to."  
  
The only thing that stopped Kankri from lunging over the table and trying to strangle her was the knowledge that the town was a safe zone.

No PVP allowed.


End file.
